


snapshots in lavender

by exceed



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (if you could call it that), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Dave | Technoblade-centric, Dissociation, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Potatoes, minor body horror/gore descriptions?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 99,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27539020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exceed/pseuds/exceed
Summary: The potato war came and went. Techno won, not by fighting, but by watching and farming and cultivating life until sheer numbers overwhelmed his adversary. When everything was said and done, he remained, trying to find a purpose amongst the massive fields of his island. He went back to working the fields underneath an unassuming sky.Turns out, not leaving the island and waking up one day to find his communicator broken starts an unforeseen chain of consequences; no updates from the subworld to the parent server, and the whole island ends up noted as idle and gets put into the server's storage instead of being counted as a regular inhabited island. While Techno's still in it.This...causes massive problems.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade, Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 879
Kudos: 2772





	1. i. time has a funny kind of violence

**Author's Note:**

> rpf fiction is a bit odd for me to write; therefore, this is taken from the thought of them as characters and not necessarily real people. there'll still be no romance, because that's a line i'm not going to touch with a mile-long pole. this is rated mature simply to cover any language that goes a bit beyond teen ratings.
> 
> the only additional note to be had at the start is that not all characters are here from the start, and that the additional tags will be updated with more chapters. thank you very much for giving this your eye, and enjoy.
> 
> [chapter 1 title from "good grief" by dessa]

What was a person without something to hold onto? Were they a husk, drifting? Were they the storms that howled yearly, the ones that thought of nothing but causing chaos upon their path? Were they the silence in devastation?

Were they a person farming potatoes long after their purpose for doing so had passed?

Once, it had been out of necessity to complete a task, to upgrade something that he had long forgotten about over the expanse of time. Then it had morphed into a want, a desire, a _need_ to best the person that was at the top, a bone-deep hunger to drag them down from their throne and sit at it with the knowledge that he had _won_ , to stomp them underneath his foot until there was no argument of his supremacy.

He had won. He had conquered.

But still, Techno tilled the dirt, planted the potatoes, moved on and harvested them when they were fully grown. Once, this world had been an island in the sky spawned in with the intent of being a waypoint and a home when one wasn’t doing things elsewhere, a place to rest when he wasn’t adventuring within the world created by the dimension’s crafters. It was storage, it was a bed, it was a set of automated systems to run in the background, collecting resources for him.

Now, it was rare for him to see the edge where land met nothingness. The automatons had failed him long ago, had failed his enemy even before he had arrived (though Squid hadn’t noticed it for the longest stretch of time), and while the automatons still kept going, lurking at the underbelly of the island, the potatoes they planted and harvested had gone uncollected since the war’s end.

There was something fascinating about the island, about it all. Something eternal, something _strange_.

Or- perhaps _strange_ wasn’t the best term for it. Something closer to _steady_ even as it changed- yes, that was better. There was an almost eerie peacefulness to the fields, to the way that, as he endlessly traversed it all, new things kept popping up and creeping in at the edge of his vision. A tree there, a lake that he hadn’t remembered before, a forest swallowing up the nexus of the subworld, right where it had all started. Where once there had been the connectors to the outside world laid an overgrown ruin, waypoints crumbled with lack of use.

When he had first come across the ruins four, five months after the war had ended, after his first trip back across the island, there had been a bitter kind of sorrow on his tongue. Not quite _panic_ , not when the tranquility draped over his shoulders like a balm, a life spent fighting turned to whatever this was, but-

He had expected this in some way, hadn’t he?

On that first long, slow sweep of his world after the war had been won, Techno had taken his time. Hadn’t gone with the speed of a man possessed, hadn’t been a man utterly consumed by gathering enough potatoes to end famines wherever one could find them. He had walked, had lingered at the edge of the world, and when he found himself looking out at the first glimpse of _nothing_ that he had seen in months, he had checked his communicator. Jiggled it around a bit when it only greeted him with a forlorn _click_ at the back of his mind, wholly unresponsive to the hand movements and subvocalizations it was designed to detect.

 _Guess I need a new one_ , he had thought, and that had been that. Sure, it lingered on in his mind for the rest of his sweep across the land, as he picked his way through fields that looked more and more overgrown, as Techno cleaned them up and replanted the potatoes and went on his way, a job well done- but there had been no hurry.

When the confirmation stared him straight in the face, there was nothing but a soft _oh_ in his mind. A moment of slow realization.

This was his home, now, for the foreseeable future.

He took a moment to stand there, to mourn, to think of his brothers- and then he simply started on his second slow sweep, working out and around before coming back in to the center. Followed the exact same path, every meandering little step of it, and doubled back occasionally to find new things creeping out of the dirt, little surprises that colored everyday life.

No hostile mobs appeared, no matter how many weeks turned to months, no matter how many days crept past. By the world’s design, they had only been able to be spawned by means of automation, and the only presets he had for those now were for potato automatons. Even though the passive mobs weren’t _supposed_ to spawn, it was a small pleasure to see something other than him- foxes chasing each other around a small grove of trees, a few of the bigger mobs like sheep and cows finding what food they could find. He watched them pick through the fields, the ones that he roamed to clean and harvest and plant up once again, staring at him with baleful eyes. When he woke up from whatever place he had dropped to sleep, occasionally he would see a rabbit slip into a warren nearby or a bird watching him from a tree.

Perhaps he slept more than he should.

Anything with eyes- the birds, the bees, the sheep- could probably tell that Techno was tired. More than that, he was _weary_. Occasionally, his mind drifted to friends, to family- half-remembered songs in the key of Wilbur’s voice, to the fervor in which Tommy would say ‘the Blade!’, to what his mind had kept of Phil’s smile.

He missed his brothers. More than anything, they were what he missed- not banter with Squid or comments about strategy or quiet conversation with Dream, not a remark between friends- he missed his brothers more with every step he took, a quiet kind of longing that only grew with time.

Was this how Phil felt, all by himself in the world of his own creation? When he wasn’t immediately paying attention to the fact that he could permanently die, never to see those he cared for again, did he look out on that ocean Techno was… _pretty_ sure their house still stood by and think about how much the silence weighed?

But- Phil still had his communicator. In those heavy moments, he could just call one of them, could call anyone and talk until he wasn’t able to speak anymore. Techno, in the same situation, could only stay in silence. His voice ran hoarse with disuse in the rare moments in which he did speak- to the animals, mostly, but occasionally to the fields that he harvested, to the potatoes he picked up, even though it felt awkward- and he tried to remember what the timbre of his voice was meant to be, tried to not feel like it was some other person’s scratchy voice coming out of his mouth. (An exercise in futility, as it turned out. _Of course._ )

It was all routine by the end of the second sweep, approaching what Techno estimated was a year swallowed up by the monotony of the grind. First, wake up wherever he had left off the day before, body aching from lack of a bed or even a sleeping bag to lay in. Second, check that his tools were still working, ignore the blunt, unsharpened sword that he still kept on him. Third, fourth, fifth, all the steps up until it started again- stand up, work, eat, work some more, move on if he was done with the area, sleep. Repeat.

Nobody came for him.

Perhaps the admins of Hypixel had closed off his home from the main hub on purpose, he imagined on the nights when the stars shone the least, when even the moon hid itself from view. Perhaps they had imagined that a near-god of fighting who had turned to aggressively farming in spite was something to be afraid of when his stint was finished, when they thought he would come back out to a life ‘as usual’, to be the Blood God of their sprawling city yet again.

Perhaps Squid had bribed them, sore from losing, or any number of people, the masses, those that had sponsored him back in the day, someone he had beaten had asked for him to be locked away in this form of purgatory, left to slowly lose his mind even under the calming monotony of farming without end, left to die here alone-

Perhaps they had simply forgotten, and the server itself had mislabeled his island as _inactive_ before putting it in a little corner of its system. _Perhaps it was just a mistake,_ he thought on those nights which he couldn’t sleep but the moon shone full above his head, and kept going, kept working, ignoring the whining of his scarred and overworked body.

Did his brothers miss him? Did his friends miss him?

He had friends. Right?

On a particularly bad night, out at one of the far edges of the land, he sat by a stream and let his sword lay in his lap. Memories lapped at the far shore of his mind, those of blood and war and cutting down any who laid in his path, and he considered the worth of sharpening the sword, a stone perfect for the job at hand- but to what effect? To what end would he be sharpening it for? To kill the animals that shared in his bounty?

To get anyone that possibly came in, to get whatever admin checked on him, to tear the dimension down person by person no matter who came in?

Why did he need to fight? Why did he carry a sword? Farmers didn’t carry swords.

When he left, the sword did not leave with him. It stayed right there, plunged into the ground by the stream, and he dreamt of the way that metal carved through flesh, of the way he had taught his brothers the techniques of war, the threads of memory hazy and indistinct.

He dreamt of loss.

Night rolled back on into day.

Those potatoes wouldn’t tend to themselves.

* * *

How long had it been?

In that first month or two, Techno had told the time by his communicator, by that tentative link to the outside world that murmured at the back of his head. If he wanted to know when it was- or if anyone wanted to talk- all he had to do was twitch his fingers or mumble something, and the little object in one of his pockets would just let him feel for the time, pluck that information from where it waited patiently, a step sideways from his thoughts.

Now, he could only properly tell time by the sun, by the number of his fields he had visited, and even that was a terrible way to do it all. The sun could tell vague segments of his waking hours, sure, but a count of days? Impossible. He hadn’t bothered keeping track when he had the communicator, and it was a lost cause to do so now with a faulty memory and the occasional day that was slept through.

Days started to blur together. More and more often, he spent stretches of time every week not thinking, not doing anything but letting his body go through the motions. Occasionally, he begun to stray from the path- sitting at a river to cast a line out and have nothing to catch for a few hours, a whole day. Time meant nothing. At this point, the potatoes were only to keep himself from losing what he was completely.

If he stayed in one field, he could have enough potatoes to last him a lifetime and then some. If he just ate what was harvested and waited for the plants to regrow, it would be sustainable. With some berries and herbs that had started growing around the vast, vast island to supplement it, if he went to one of the fields that now sat by a new river, maybe if he built a little house instead of roaming…

But what did Techno have, other than this endless cycle?

What did he have if he didn’t keep going and make sure that the next field didn’t become overgrown and choke out the ground around it?

In the end, it wasn’t even a choice.

The house in those daydreams never got built.

A slave to the monotony, a servant of repetition-

It had to have been a year. Or was time skewed? He had done two cycles, was in the middle of a third, right? That must have been a year. It must have been.

Where was everyone? He had brothers, right? Or was that just a faulty piece of his imagination? He hadn’t seen anyone but Squid or a Hypixel admin properly since the middle of the war, but- they were there, yeah, in that wider universe beyond the island?

What was a person without something to hold onto? Something _concrete?_ As enough time became unreachable in his memory, Techno orbited the point between _nobody_ and _somebody_ slow enough to spend stretches of time lost to that grueling routine, slow enough to spend hours fishing with the hook at the end of his line empty, mulling over everything best left untouched in a circle that only ended when he was tired enough to sleep. He fished, waiting for that moment, looked at his reflection with the knowledge that the man that stared back was not _him_.

How could it be, with long hair that might have once been pink grown dirty and brown over time, caked with dust and mud and only half-properly washed away with the rain? How could it be, with eyes so similar yet so different, colored with the dullness of time instead of the steadiness of determination?

How could it be, with no sword or bow at hand, ready to lash out if caught off guard?

Where had the idea that he was supposed to be ready to fight come from?

Techno stared at his reflection one day, felt the chill of whatever passed for late fall in this world nip at his skin, let it bite and try to tear and fail to properly hurt him. He stared, long and hard at the face that was not his not his _not his,_ and looked back up as he cast his barren line out once again.

He didn’t look at his reflection again for weeks. Months.

If he did, he’d try to compare himself to a phantom that he could barely picture nowadays.

* * *

The world was changing faster than it had been before, altering itself in ways both unsettling and interesting. Where there was once one tree among a flat plain grew another forest, potatoes forgotten in nature’s advance. Streams became rivers that became lakes. Hills became…not mountains, not quite, but rose higher, enough to be a bump in the distance instead of the flatness of what had once been. Weather became more unpredictable, and Techno found himself _fascinated_ despite himself at the first whisper of snow he had seen on this island since its creation.

Seasons weren’t supposed to be a thing, but in this forgotten land-

It brought a smile to his face for the first time in a long while.

Through the light snows, the potatoes kept growing, and so he followed their growth with a slow lethargy and an additional piece of clothing: a shitty new shawl. To be honest, it was more of a wearable blanket, really, one made over those days where potatoes weren’t the main focus, riddled with mistakes made from trial and error that felt as if it should have been muscle memory but stepped off of the path somewhere along the way. It was something he was proud of, in the moments where he could truly appreciate it, but an item that he resented on the other side of that coin for even needing.

The world was changing, and that could only be from a few things: from data corruption, from willful inputs, or from a phenomenon that was probably more of a bug than a feature, unless there were people that studied inactive subworlds. It wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on, but…well.

He didn’t know much about it, could barely theorize, but it was more than nothing.

Something _new_ to dwell on was a relief, compared to the way that his mind seemed to distort time, days cycling like time was being skipped, the way that memories were harder and harder to properly fetch when he was feeling contemplative. Things that were once easy to remember became fleeting to the touch, flighty and skittish when his thoughts strayed near. His dreams were always of fleeting shards placed together haphazardly; a chuckle from someone that he couldn’t quite name, the strums of a melody that he could only remember the faintest chords of, in-jokes that lacked the context to properly enjoy them.

There had to be something more going on, here. Surely just time alone didn’t cause all of this…unnerving loss of time, of cognitive thought, of his sense of self.

But what could he _do_ about it?

 _Farm potatoes,_ one part of him said.

 _Go back to where it all started,_ the other murmured.

…He didn’t have to worry that much about it, right? The nexus of this place was far away, and it wasn’t as if there was any pressure to arrive there faster than his usual pace. He could get around to it.

There was always time.

* * *

_Hey, Phil, you know where Techno’s gone? Wilbur and I were gonna, uh, ask for his help with…something. Seen him anywhere recently?_

_Oh- no? I thought he was with you two? After winning the war, you know, I thought he was planning on visiting, last he messaged me…_

_You sure you haven’t seen the Blade anywhere, huh? Hidin’ him from us?_

_Hah- no, no, nothing like that, Tommy. I was going to message you, you know._

_What?_

_About Techno! I thought he was with you, like I said, right? And he hasn’t responded to anything recently. I was getting worried. I_ am _worried._

_Well- uh- fuck. Think he’s grown addicted to another thing like he was with the potatoes? Some other winstreak on a game?_

_…No, no, that can’t be it._

_Phil-_

_Tommy, go back to where you came from, okay? I’ll go find him. Whatever’s going on with you and Wilbur, I hope it goes good, okay? Tell him I said hey._

_…_

_I’ll make sure to tell you when I find him._

_…Fine._

_I’ll be back before you know it. Stay safe, kid._

_Bye, Phil._

* * *

At first, he thought the voice was a hallucination.

A far-off call tickled the edge of Techno’s hearing as he swept through one of the fields closer to the island’s center, the world now trapped in the heart of winter. The potatoes seemed harder, colder- of course, it was winter, but they’d do for food anyways- and as with all of the ones he had harvested since the season had hit with full force, he grimaced and tossed it in with the others. He’d stick with eating those he had harvested _before_ then for as long as possible, thank you very much. Even if he was at the start of his fourth sweep…or was it the end of his third sweep of the fields?- He’d probably try and eat all of the potatoes that weren’t grown this close to the coldest part of the island first.

He stood up and wiped his brow, sighing and ignoring the puff of frosty air that hissed out of his throat. Ignored the brittle crunch of grass as he stood at the edge of the field, a pile of potatoes in front of him.

It was then that he heard something- and Techno tensed, looking up towards the trees, a few lengths away, all spruce and pine and evergreen clustered at the edge of the field. A bird, tiny from how far away it was, _caw_ ed at him.

He huffed, irritated, and went back to his work.

But the voice was familiar- and, worse, it kept popping up throughout the day. Whenever he looked back, feeling eyes on him or hearing something that wasn’t _natural_ in the woods, something staring at him- but as his shoulders grew ever more tense, ever more ready to bolt, Techno couldn’t pin the sounds on anything permanent. It got louder- and then softer, and louder again.

_Techno? Techno? Techno?_

He nearly yelled back a _what?_ at the forest surrounding the field, but only a wheeze left his mouth when he tried to do so. He drank from a flask at his belt, water freezing and biting, but only ended up coughing and hacking out half a lung when he tried again.

Of course it was in _winter_ that he fully went insane, ignoring that it was perhaps better to be concerned about there being a winter in the first place.

It was the touch to his shoulder, though, as he considered yet another lackluster potato, that broke him.

He whirled around on a dime, a wheeze of cold, crystallized air leaving his mouth, and met wide, worried blue eyes with startled dark red- but not before he started to throw a punch ( _sloppy, sloppy,_ the him of a different breed would say, the him that he couldn’t recognize as _himself,_ couldn’t even remotely identify now) and hit the person before him in the shoulder as hard as he could.

 _Fuck,_ his hand hurt. Especially his thumb.

He stared, wild-eyed, as the person staggered back, their expression shocked and hurt, and felt a ripple of remorse course through him despite himself- but who _was_ this? Who was this person in a world too massive yet too small for just him, and why did they look at him like it was a shock and relief to see him?

Why was there anyone here at all, when there had been nobody there but him for as long as he could remember?

“Techno,” they breathed, and he took a step back, eyebrows raising, hands shaking, mouth a flat, confused line towards the stranger. “Where have you _been?_ ”

It was then that he took the only path that made sense for him: flight.

Techno ran from the stranger in their bucket hat and well-worn, well-loved clothes, choosing to turn and sprint off like a rabbit from his gaze with a bleeding fist rather than face the consequences of staying, the consequences of not knowing the person that looked so familiar and yet so far from recognition watch him with an unstoppable devastation in their gaze.

The cowardly move, perhaps, but it was the only one he could think of in that situation. That was not a person he knew, not a person he wanted to know, not a person he wanted to have approach again.

He ran as far as he could go before collapsing, ignoring the obvious trail left behind, and tried to ignore the howling void in him that said you left that field half-done, you abandoned your duty, you failed.

Sleep embraced him in silence, the only companion he had ever kept in all this time, and still, the words echoed.

 _Techno- where have you_ been?


	2. ii. i'm sitting waiting for my deus ex machina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow falls. The line is cast. When it's reeled in, it comes up just as empty as always.
> 
> (Or: Once upon a time, a stranger tells him, Techno had three brothers.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "suck the blood from my wound" by ezra furman]

Running away could only do so much. It gave him a day to think, a day to decide what to do and try to figure out why this person was here, how this person he didn’t know had his name tucked into their pockets.

He picked himself up from where he collapsed to sleep, brushed off the snow that had fallen in the middle of the night, and didn’t go back to the field even as the stream winding its way around his psyche whispered you left it, you left it, you left it. Techno let time freeze around him, a crystalline land almost perfectly silent in the dawn, and left clear footprints as he walked.

Running- or perhaps walking- would only get him so far. It was enough to let him sit down at a riverbank, feet long bare and almost skimming the ice-cold water, enough to let him cast out a line and think.

By the time the stranger caught up to him, he was no closer to figuring out who the hell they were.

Their feet crunched the brittle sticks hidden underneath the snow, snapped the fragile twigs scattered about, heralded their arrival long before they actually stood beside Techno.

There was no use running any longer. If they truly wanted to, it wasn’t hard to find him in the middle of this winter. He considered his cast line with hands that trembled from both the cold and a nervous sort of fear.

“Techno,” they said, even softer than the first time they plucked his name out of thin air, and his only response was to tense back up and stare resolutely at the rippling water at his feet. As they sat down next to him, cross-legged and feet clad compared to Techno’s dangling, bare toes, the line of Techno’s shoulders almost vibrated with tension. “Is everything…is everything alright? You haven’t been…answering any of our messages. It took some searching to get me here, you know. Did something happen? You…that punch…”

Rather than answer, he reeled the line in, took a moment to check the hook for any changes- no, no fish, just like normal, normal was good- and cast it out again.

The person sighed.

“Talk to me, please,” they said, and then there was a hand on Techno’s shoulder- a hand that almost got slapped aside if not for how he couldn’t take his hands off of his fishing rod. “I…I know you’d rather sit here, but-”

“You…”

Techno dissolved into coughing, a hand escaping the fishing rod to come to his mouth as he bent over, as his toes skimmed the water and sent a shock through him. Fuck, how his throat hurt, the water he pulled from his flask unable to soothe it, attempted words scraping down the sides of his throat until there was no choice to do anything but stay quiet.

The person next to him- oh, how horrible it was to not know their name, to not have that knowledge tucked under their tongue, hidden like an important secret- fell silent in what seemed to be some sort of shocked- but polite- silence.

They gave him a moment.

 _That’s something I’ve always liked about them,_ he thought, before going: _what?_

What was _that?_

“I…” The words came out slow, rough, hoarse. “I don’t…” No amount of water would make speaking not hurt, not right now. “…Don’t…know who you are.”

It seemed enough of a shock for them that they adopted his frozen posture, fingers twitching mid-air as if to grasp for something before they stopped, eyes still locked on him. He looked away and grimaced.

“Techno- _what?_ ”

“You- know me,” he said patiently in return, the scratchiness of his voice leaving long pauses between many of the words. “I don’t…remember you. But- but- you’re- familiar.” And then he was back to coughing, hard and long enough that he had to bend over and wheeze, bad enough that one of their hands found their way to his shoulder and _oh that didn’t help at all_. “How could you- how- how could you. Get here? The- that- nexus…”

_The nexus that he could infer the purpose of but couldn’t remember why it was ever needed, wasn’t able to bring that thought to mind no matter how hard he strained for it-_

“O-Oh.”

Techno stayed silent, as frozen as the snow he had swept away to sit down on hours before. He let them gather their composure- listened to a shaky inhale, something a half-breath away from a sob- and waited for them to continue with an unshakable patience only hours upon hours of being alone could teach.

A patience that only harvesting potatoes with barely a break in the motions would teach.

( _You need to go back there,_ a voice in him murmured. _You need to go back there and finish the field up. You need to go back there-_ )

Techno sat, and he waited, and he _breathed_.

In. Out.

“ _That’s_ why the admins didn’t think that you were here,” they whispered, just loud enough for Techno to pick up. “No connection through transportation, no connection for the server to update the status of this subworld. Shown as inactive, moved to storage with someone inside of it...Techno…”

Reel- _breathe_ \- in. Check the hook. _Hold it._ Cast- _breathe-_ out.

 _Admins._ That word sounded familiar enough that something minor sparked, one minor connection mended itself. The owners and caretakers of worlds.

A hand reached up to touch his shoulder, tentative and hesitant, and Techno’s toes dipped into the water. He left them there.

“Techno-” He was loud enough, again, that he probably thought he hadn’t been heard the first time. “I’m...I’m Phil. Your brother. Your _oldest_ brother. You haven’t gotten my messages? _Any_ of them?”

He considered the question, divorced from the alien concept that was, apparently, having a brother. Or _multiple_ brothers, if ‘ _oldest brother’_ was indicative of anything. He took a moment before he pulled out his broken communicator and held it out for them- to _him,_ considering that he claimed to be his brother- to take.

From what he could hear next to him, he seemed a bit heartbroken at the sight- an exhale, something sad and angry and tense- but not surprised.

“I think…I’d remember if I had a- a brother,” he said as the person- as Phil examined the broken capsule that had once called itself a communicator. Techno found that his own mouth was turned down sharply, almost enough to hurt as his hands grasped the fishing rod tightly. He nearly opened his mouth to say more- but it hurt, and it was miserable, and he was miserable- so he just took a moment to take his toes out of the water and let it drip off of him.

Talking was too much work.

“Brothers, plural,” Phil corrected gently. Techno didn’t see the point in the correction if he couldn’t remember any of those kinds of details at all, but still. The man could say what he wanted. He certainly wasn’t going to interject. “...Do you remember your potato war? The one with, uh, what’s his name...Squid? That was him, yeah?”

A minute passed. He let his eyes go back to the fishing rod as he repeated the motions once again, and he thought that, perhaps, Phil was watching his pointless endeavor too. (It wasn’t pointless. It wasn’t pointless when it steadied you, when it was a moment of calm to think in instead of a moment of calm to lose himself to apathy in, not pointless at all-)

A potato war. Considering the fields that he toiled in, it sounded about right for him to be a part of something like that.

It was almost far enough to be lost over that blurred horizon, the knowledge of what had happened, the way that his hand had given Squid’s one solid shake before a final landmark was decided.

He had hit that mark, hadn’t he?

And he had kept going, because it was his life. He farmed the potatoes. That was what he did.

That sounded right.

Techno nodded.

“Okay. Okay.” Phil breathed in, slowly, and Techno felt the hand on his shoulder grow lighter until it was a feather-touch. His body grew a fraction more relaxed in response. “...I’ve heard about this before,” Phil said in a tone that felt far more like a front of confidence than true belief. “Sometimes accidents happen, and worlds get counted as idle and get put in storage for a large server and- and if something’s still going on in it, it starts morphing just like survival worlds do. This was all made up of potato fields once, right?”

Techno shrugged before nodding again. It made sense, even if it was a bit hard to think of the center of the island being anything but a forest, even if it made the edges of his mind go all fuzzy from thinking about it too much.

“...Then it’s changed your memories with it,” Phil murmured. “Time’s probably wacky, too, since I don’t think seasons are supposed to be here…Do you know how long it’s been since the war finished?”

Techno was silent for a long, long moment. He shook his head, stayed silent for a beat more, and then gave a small, considering hum. “This is...first winter,” he said, carefully picking out his words. “But that doesn’t- mean much.”

His hands twitched from where they held the fishing rod, almost as if they wanted to do something, to say something. He ignored them.

“Because it could have stayed in that default eternal spring- or summer, or whatever- for many months, right?”

“…Don’t know. Been- a year? Two years after war?” His throat hurt. Techno refused to speak any more than that.

That sharp inhale, though, clearly didn’t indicate anything good. He didn’t have to think too hard to know _that_.

“...Can you come with me, please, Techno? You...getting out of this place’ll do you some good, I swear. Do you enjoy farming potatoes end- endlessly, like this?” Phil sounded on the edge of...something. Maybe tears, maybe desperation, but on the edge of _something_.

He didn’t answer, but he did reel the line in and lay the rod on his free side, staring at the river in front of them.

Did he like farming potatoes?

Did he like feeling like his head was even a fraction above water? Did he like breathing air? It was an absurd question.

His hands folded up neatly in his lap, his own special effort to stop them from trying to twitch, to stop them from curling up into fists and possibly making the one he had hurt sting further.

Phil’s voice broke hard, broke often. “ _Please,_ Techno- you can have a potato farm where we’ll go, okay? You can farm potatoes to your heart’s content, you can do whatever you want, I swear. Just- come with me, please,” he said, voice so, so close to shattering. Techno’s heart tightened without his knowledge of why, why, _why_.

“Techno, _please_. You understand what this place has been doing to you, right? Or have you forgotten that it’s bugged?”

No, he hadn’t forgotten. He just wasn’t going to speak any more.

“I can’t lose you again, Techno, and have you die here. I’m not letting you go no matter what.”

He didn’t want to make this man sad, he realized faintly. He didn’t want to turn and see this person that claimed to be his brother have tears in his eyes, didn’t want to hear him deflate or cry or strain his voice with the effort to contain his fear about Techno not going with him.

He didn’t know this man, and it terrified Techno how badly he wanted nothing more than to follow.

It was with that thought, clear and haunting and looming over him with every passing second, that Techno lurched to his feet, almost startling Phil into falling backwards from his sitting position, picked up his fishing rod, and started to put one foot in front of the other. Started to walk.

What was he doing?

What was his goal?

Phil quickly caught up with him, panic clear as day in his voice. “Techno- _Techno-_ ”

He stopped to look up at the man. Phil opened his mouth- and Techno looked away as whatever words the man was going to say died before they fully came out. They stood in a shaking silence before Techno huffed, shook his head, and kept walking.

He kept pace.

Clearly Phil didn’t know exactly where he was headed, but Techno didn’t say another word as they walked, the sun hanging high over their heads as it turned to a downwards arc.

The anxiety running through him kept strong- there was another person there, and no matter what he was told about worlds being bugged, it felt wrong- but he kept going, kept channeling that energy into putting one foot in front of the other, retracing his steps where the snow was clearly barely covering the ground instead of the inch or two the rest of the surrounding snow had.

They arrived at the field that he had abandoned, its appearance haggard and lost, and he stopped at the edge of the field to stare over it.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

 _This is a few days away from the center,_ he thought, one hand coming to rest upon the tree he stopped by. _One field between it and here. One field_.

He looked up to the sky. The sun cast a lower glow over the area, mostly disappeared behind the treeline that made up the horizon. All those hours of walking- of quiet walking- and his so-called brother hadn’t complained.

He nodded to himself and made his way over to the harvested pile of potatoes.

A hand grasped his arm. He tensed, looking over his shoulder.

“Please,” he whispered to Techno. “You- I- you can’t do this.”

He huffed softly, ignoring the puff of white air in his face. He didn’t realize what he was doing. Sure. That was better than him just…not wanting to eat, he supposed, so instead of jerking away Techno simply turned, gave the hand grasping at his other arm a pat, and started to gently pull Phil along.

That seemed to do the trick, even if he kept talking at him, confused beyond belief. He tuned it out.

When they got there, he finally shook his arm out from the hold it was in and sat down, taking one of the less shitty potatoes from the pile before slinging a very worn-down, torn-up bag off of his shoulder and rooting through it, pulling out a bundle of sticks that he had gathered a day or two ago and piling them up on the ground.

Phil finally grew quiet. He looked up at him, gestured to the ground, and gestured to the pile of sticks. “Food,” Techno murmured, the first thing he had said since his throat had grown too angry with him. He pulled out some flint and steel that he had crafted a few months ago when his former had finally given up the ghost and sparked a flame, sighing when a little bit of warmth was cast back onto him.

The only thing that was left to do was pull out one of the better potatoes that he had on him and put both potatoes onto the flame, poking at them with a stick that threatened to catch itself on fire.

Throughout it, Phil stayed quiet. It was- a bit of a nice change. He looked up to see a crooked smile on the man’s face.

Techno eyed him, dubious, and went back to poking at the potatoes on the flame. There was some foil he kept in his bag, but…that would be a bit too much work. The open flame would be fine.

“Eat,” he said once they were finished, gingerly taking the potatoes off of the fire and onto the fabric of his bag, pointing at the one that had once been in the pile before he plucked the one that had been in the bag to start eating.

He took a bite of the potato and gave a breathy hum at the way that the hot food warmed him up. They were wonderful, especially in winter.

Silence.

Techno looked up to see Phil watching him with something between amazement and horror. He looked back down.

What an odd person Phil was. Even when he finished his potato and leaned back against part of a broken-down fence to close his eyes, clearly about to sleep, he could hear a reaction- an amused- pained, yes, but amused- little chuckle.

 _Maybe people in general are just weird,_ Techno thought mildly, and dozed off to the sound of the other man doing...something. Maybe get a sleeping bag up, or keeping the fire going, or...he didn’t know. He thought he could hear a blade, even if that was odd, even though there was no chance of something coming out to attack unless a cow thought Phil was a threat- but it didn’t matter. He was exhausted from the sheer effort of social interaction, and nothing would stop him from getting better sleep tonight.

He dreamt of warm, unintelligible conversation and of Phil’s worn face smiling at him.

* * *

“You really don’t remember me, huh.”

Techno’s hummed, noncommittal, as he let two potatoes bake over a renewed fire, this time wrapped in a thin foil that he reused and just hadn’t brought out the night before. He stayed like that until he could feel Phil’s eyes leave him, stared at the flames until the fire hissed at him and he had to pay more attention to turning the wrapped potatoes.

“So, um...well, when you were younger…”

He let Phil’s words wash over him as he tended to the flames, as he went about his simple morning routine. It seemed to comfort Phil, to talk and talk without end, to chatter at Techno with no real expectation of a response, and there was something that almost made Techno smile about it. It felt like a normal day, even though _so much_ about it was leagues away from normal.

Did he process Phil’s words? Not at all- but he appreciated them all the same.

As much as it made him want to frown to consider, there was an allure to having someone talk about times before he remembered, an allure to having someone come up and say this is what you did, this is who you were, why I’m here, something that made him want to stay and listen with a singleminded devotion.

But, oh, how he hated it. How he loathed it. How he wanted to shut him up and let out a wordless scream and go back to farming-

So Techno just let it become background noise. Paid it as little attention as he could.

If he listened to everything, he could very well…go insane. Probably.

“And, if you could _believe it_ , Tommy shouts about how he feels good killing a woman-“

Techno slowed down at that snippet of information- something that felt so close to reality, so close to a memory- but clenched his hands into fists when the feeling of _nearly remembering, almost there, so close to it_ left him. It made him irritable enough to feel like he was brittle all over, a sharp frown on his face, and there was no way the other across the fire didn’t miss it, but…it wasn’t commented on.

He watched Phil eat his potato in silence, his own devoured by the time that Phil sat down to actually eat- and he looked appreciative, handing Techno a granola bar in exchange. Techno set to work on packing up his things, trying his best to ignore the siren song of the field, and finished what he wanted to do before Phil even finished. To pass the time, he started clearing their little camp- stopping the fire, making sure it was all as he had left it, checked all of the items he kept with him to make sure they hadn’t spirited themselves away.

Fishing rod strapped to the bag, potatoes at the bottom? _Check._

Hoe and other farming tools? _Check._

Broken communicator in his pocket? _Check._

He busied himself with leaning against the tree he had slept against and stared in the direction of the island’s center, the morning atmosphere washing over them.

Maybe, once, he had been Phil’s brother. Maybe in the past, the past that taunted him in the distance, his hair had been ruffled, jokes had been made, _whatever_. Maybe in the past he had been in something of a family. That didn’t stop the eerie nature of Phil’s presence, the effects it had- the way that Techno stilled when something nudged at the back of his mind, trying to bring out a memory and not quite reaching where it wanted. There was something to be remembered, and it lurked there but it was too far away to even _think_ about properly approaching.

Each little bit, every little word or phrase from Phil that got his mind to double check memories that weren’t there made him clench and unclench his fists. The nudges felt like the whispers of memories that tickled at his mind when he looked at his scars- all ones he didn’t remember getting, but that his body could remember the _pain_ of, could remember the way something had almost torn his side open in one swipe, the way that half of him _ached_ before a storm.

What if he didn’t _want_ to remember?

It was a blessing when Phil’s mindless chatter stopped, leaving them in the silence of the island. Techno picked a bit at the dirt under his nails, frowned, and stopped, letting his arms cross as Phil finally, _finally_ started to get ready. Blessed silence laid over them as Phil packed up his things, chewed on the last bits of potato, and gave him a smile that was both a pitiful attempt at cheeriness and a clear well of worry.

…It made him feel bad, for that earlier thought. At least he didn’t want to _forget_ any more than he apparently already had.

Techno stared him down, tilted his head in the vague direction of the nexus, and started to walk. After a half-beat, he heard Phil keep pace right behind him.

* * *

Phil kept trying to engage him in conversation over the days it took to walk all the way back to the center, and at this point Techno was ready to call it quits, stay a hermit in a supposedly bugged world, and let everything fade away. Apparently Phil didn’t know him as well as he claimed (unless Techno had changed? How much did you have to change for such a thing to be no longer tolerable?) if he kept driving him to the edge of trying to yell at him, but…either way, Techno just wanted to scream.

He didn’t, though, out of mercy for his throat and the faint idea that it didn’t seem like Phil was fishing for a response every single time. He seemed to not quite be demanding a chat as much as he was seeing how willing Techno was- which was _not at all_.

Relief fell when the latter half of the trip was spent in relative quiet, with Phil only talking once every so often, mostly to ask questions that could just be answered with a nod or a shake of the head.

When the last night fell, so close to the center of the world, it seemed that the blonde had been expecting to make camp, to share a potato or two, to sleep. Techno knew these woods, though, knew them with the way someone who knew something by muscle memory and nothing else did even if it felt like it had lengthened the distance between everything since his last visit. When Phil seemed ready to stop in the last stretch, Techno kept going, and going, and _going_ , and all Phil could do was follow.

There was only a sliver of a moon. There were no stars. Sight, after the sun fell, was nearly impossible: there was a root there, though, and the barest line of a tree there, and when the moon hung high to cast its negligible light upon the tree cover, they came upon the ruins.

He hadn’t been to this exact spot since the end of his first go-around, had avoided it even after doing a second, third (he had finished a third, right? Right?) long sweep of his little realm. It was a place that felt haunted enough to almost taste _wrongness_ : you could still hear automatons at their work, never decaying even as their bounties piled up, could still see old torches, half-lit, still scattered around as if someone was regularly there. Cobblestone and stone brick laid in disrepair.

They moved forwards, past a point with chests in disrepair, broken items scattered around them, onto a path that shifted under their feet, miserable little pieces of gravel trying to stick between his toes.

The waypoints mattered more than that, though, so he kept on.

Where all the waypoints were, though, where they should have stood in a cluster of broken gateways…

Where all the waypoints laid stood another connector, stretching at least a foot or two taller than what the others must have once been. The substance inside of it, that which connected the subworld to the data of the server, glimmered a soft white instead of a standard purple ( _how did he know that? He didn’t remember seeing the waypoints very often, didn’t remember anything purple couldn’t find where that was in his memory couldn’t couldn’t cou-_ ), and it left Techno feeling like he had taken one wrong step in a dance that he should have known, one length off the beaten path and nowhere close to finding it again.

Phil, when he finally stopped beside him (not quite worse for wear, not like how Techno had to put his hands on his knees and breathe, body wanting rest, dear, dear sleep), looked…almost jubilant.

“It’s still open,” he murmured with a glee that Techno was baffled by. The blonde brought out his own communicator, small and sleek, and tapped out a few things on it as images hovered on its surface before he stopped to frown. “…Communication’s still shit, though. Techno- Techno?”  
  
He looked up at the man properly, eyes blinking rapidly at the emotions that welled inside of him- he couldn’t leave, this was his home, and that portal that bathed them in its light represented leaving, how he wanted to tear it down, oh, how tempting that was- and Phil gave him a small, sad smile.  
  
“You must be really attached to this place,” he whispered, and Techno shook as he came closer, getting close, too close, _no no no_ -

And wrapped him up in a tight hug.

Solid, warm, steady- it made him relax even after he spasmed, his mind trying to race and figure out _why_ it made him go tired and exhausted and melty in Phil’s grip. He didn’t want to leave, his body didn’t want him to, he didn’t want to, his mind howling counterpoint to his frantic thoughts, but- _perhaps-_

“Can- I come back here?”

He was quiet, hoarse, voice pained and desperate. It caught Phil off guard by the way that his hold froze, but Techno just stared past him into the forest as the hold grew tight again. “Not for a while,” Phil murmured, just as quiet as Techno’s plea. “And- I’ll go with you if you do, okay, just to make sure nothing ever happens. But they’ll keep this little realm up just in case, okay? Just where you left it. Just where it was before, with all the other idle worlds, just…not with a player in it for an unknown amount of time, okay? Okay, Techno?”

Silence. Wind hissed its way through the leaves of nearby trees, a soft background noise that only echoed the way Techno wanted to sway, the way his hands shook. The portal’s light kept its unassuming glow over them.

Somehow, he trusted this man. He would trust him with his life and his soul and the very fabric of his being, would pour himself into whatever container was needed just to keep Phil’s arms around him, a comfort that he didn’t know how to deal with.

_Okay. Okay._

Techno didn’t answer- not with words- but he nodded as he pulled away, shaking all the harder for the current of trust that ran through his veins, and didn’t flinch when Phil took one of his hands in his.

“Let’s go home, Techno,” he whispered. “Tommy and Wilbur, I talked about them earlier, your brothers, our brothers- have been worried _sick_ about you and whatever you’ve been up to. I know I’ve already told you, but they’ve also been away for a bit…”

That was how his departure went: with soft chatter, with a hand clasping Techno’s and his trust shining a terrible sun-bright in the light of the gate. It went with a potato farmer leaving everything he knew, putting his faith in someone he still considered a stranger, promises of family and home leading away from a world slowly coming to its knees.

It went with a smile, and Phil’s fond laugh, and a flash of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure if i've figured out whether writing words or editing them is the hardest part of this whole process. anyhow, y'all have a lovely day. tell me if you notice anything, yeah? or just want to ask questions? we're on the path to a rambling little character study right here, folks, and stick along for the ride.
> 
> [edit, ~afternoon 11/16:] d...does anyone know any.....chill mcyt/techno based discords to join....i'm practically in shock (tm) from streams today and nobody i know watches mcyt....and twitter is scary. or should i just make a discord and chill with the few people that do join? man i'm ready to scream


	3. iii. my guardian angel's got wings of tinfoil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stage opens upon a bureaucratic nightmare. Techno drifts in the flood of meetings. Phil frets.
> 
> (Or: What, he wonders, what kind of a life did you have to live to be referred to as the Blood God?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "god lifts up the lowly" by ezra furman]

Nothing made sense in this place.

Where Techno’s home, his life, his world had been grass and trees and sky and fields, this place was all hard surfaces and sharp lines and bright swaths of color that strained his eyes. His toes couldn’t curl into the dirt, couldn’t feel grass, couldn’t gain a proper foothold here. If he focused, he could almost imagine himself wearing shoes much like Phil’s boots- but why would be have them, back in his home? Why have them when you didn’t need them?

He kept trying to curl his toes, but couldn’t find purchase. Phil ferried him from place to place, from places with marble floors to places with surprisingly soft carpet, and he avoided the gazes of the people that watched him like hawks. They all had eyes of diamonds, hands shaped by power, voices that spoke in rhythmic staccato that were all alien enough to make him bristle up instinctively in defense.

They weren’t like Phil. They’d never be like him. They looked at him and Techno could tell by the tilt of their heads that they found him lacking.

He was drowning in the thick atmosphere, and he could only try to scramble for dry land, could only attempt to guess at who these people were, who these people were that talked to Phil about _bugs_ and _compensation_ and murmured _oh, how the Blood God has fallen_.

“We’re headed home,” Phil kept telling him, whispered when someone stuck something in him, Techno’s eyes zeroing in on the point that they drew blood from, whispered when they were ushered out to go walk somewhere else under bright lights and clean hallways and floating transportation hubs to other places where bureaucracy reigned.

(The logo that was scattered around the place was similar. Why was it so similar? Why did all of these people, when told who he was, knew him and gave a start? Why?)

“We’re headed home,” Phil kept saying, sitting in a waiting room for the next person in a crisp suit to look at them both, look at their papers, and judge them further. There was no _home_ in sight. There were only jagged pieces of frustration and words that went over his head and more hellishly hard floors for his feet in sight.

“We’re headed home,” Phil kept saying, and eventually Techno snapped- tore himself away from Phil’s gentle hold, snarled and crackled and paced away and barely kept himself from throwing another terrible punch, an action that felt reasonable but not to Phil, not to the bruise that had blossomed on his face days ago and hadn’t entirely left.

The frustration, the fear of being in such a foreign (oh, but how some of this spoke to him in an alien way) place- it flooded him so viscerally that it felt like its own kind of punch, so much so that it left him reeling and adrift in a sea of confusion.

(Why was everything trying to scratch at a blank spot from his mind? Why couldn’t he be somewhere that also left his mind quiet, that also let him breathe, something that felt like his potato fields?

Was it just because he hadn’t slept?)

Phil’s hold on him, after his… _outburst_ was more secure. Not tighter, not when Techno’s chill was razor-thin, but more secure.

It could have just been that incident which caused Phil to blaze through bureaucracy at a faster pace after that, but it was probably some mixture of things that Techno had no hope of identifying. He stared down people, talked in a clipped tone of voice that said _we’re going soon, whether you like it or not, so fix what I’m telling you to fix or people will hear about this, about what happened to Techno_.

That last bit seemed to cow them all. He wondered why.

“Finally,” Phil sighed after the last meeting, looking as exhausted as Techno felt, rubbing at his eyes while Techno just squinted his against the too-bright lights of the place. “Our next destination…home.”

He didn’t snap at him. Techno just echoed Phil’s sigh and tried to ignore the way that people eyed them with even more suspicion as they walked past, as if having dirty hair, dirty clothes, and no shoes was a bad thing- …wait.

(Why did all these people like shoes to begin with, anyways?)

“Home should help you remember things a bit better,” Phil explained, his voice quiet and gentle, compared to the quiet and harsh voice he had used with all of the people he had talked to before. How long had it been? Had it been hours? “You and Wil, your other older brother, you two helped me build it when I finally got a license to create a private server, and it’s a lot different from when you were a kid, or wherever you were before I found you but it’s home and, uh-”

Techno looked at him. Raised an eyebrow. Phil glanced over and started to snicker as they arrived at their destination, almost as if it were unintended.

He didn’t get it. He kept staring, even as Phil broke out into proper laughter that sounded rather more delirious than Techno thought laughter was meant to be.

“Yeah, yeah,” Phil chuckled, pulling him away slightly as they finally got into a little booth at a transportation hub. Some people seemed to be using terminals that would teleport them to somewhere else within the server, but the one Phil was squinting at was bigger, bulkier, clearly meant for something of a longer distance. After he let Techno go, though, his hands seemed to fly across it as if on wings, leagues faster than the people squinting at smaller terminals.

“You were always back and forth between this world- Hypixel- and home,” Phil murmured, and it was almost as if he was speaking to himself, the quiet tone- but Techno’s slightly longer ears twitched, picked it up easily. “Even before I got the license, you were pretty big here…but that’s a conversation for a later time, I bet…” He hummed, paused to squint at the screen that kept changing before Techno’s eyes, and kept on manipulating the screen.

“But…” His voice grew a bit louder, something closer to whatever passed for normal in Phil’s eyes. “I’m glad you’ll be with me for a while, you know? I mean, even if you don’t know a whole lot of the past, I’m just happy to have company besides the animals, since you were pretty permanently gone for the past year from both the potato war and whatever happened afterwards…”

Techno blinked when he found himself nearly falling asleep, jerking back awake with a silent yawn and a shake to his own shoulders.

Gods, he was exhausted. First, there was the no sleep, and then there had been hours of walking and walking both in his world and in this hell of meetings and discussions that went over his head-

“I’ll stop now, I think,” Phil said with a chuckle. Techno blearily looked up to see Phil smiling back at him. “I’m tired too, hah, but coordinates are all set, everything’s synced…let me hold your hand for a second, and we’re off-”

The light of teleportation was the same clear white that the portal to the world they were leaving had. Was it because of Phil, he wondered, or something related to this world- all of the light, a shower of petals of light, trust and hope and safety-

And then they were gone, their traces in Hypixel just the smudges of dirt that Techno left behind.

 _How about that_.

* * *

At a familiar-looking ocean’s edge, the world stained in the colors of sunset, Techno stared down, down, down, until all he could see was a stranger’s face staring back, all dull eyes and long, matted hair that was brown with dirt and the trek of time. His toes finally curled into the ground, into the sand at the edge of the water, similar yet so different from the place he thought had to have been his home. He breathed in, slow and deep and tired, to find that the air bit sharply at his lungs before settling in like a content housecat.

Phil stood next to him, unspeaking, unmoving. He let Techno take his time. It was something he appreciated, his patience- it let him breathe even though he was better off laying down to sleep, it let him sift through the thoughts that plagued him, the knowledge that his overactive mind would cycle back around to an even deeper apathy, an even deeper thoughtlessness given enough time.

In this world’s climate, his terrible, wonderful, no-good shawl was too hot for what was otherwise a moderate temperature a hair too high to be considered cool. The wool itched incessantly at his skin, and he took it off slowly, bundling it up in his arms with a careful precision that spoke of possessiveness. It was _his_. _He_ had made it. It was… It was…

“How about we go inside?”

Techno made no argument. Not when Phil led him into his abode, something roomy yet humble, built with little spaces clearly favored by different individuals- a place that felt like it should register to him but didn’t. Some rooms seemed rarely used, as they passed them by in a little hallway- Phil didn’t stop at any of those, but steered Techno into a bathroom, the guiding hand reaching up to brush against his hair (still in some kind of a ponytail, even if the band was ratty, even if half of the hair wasn’t in it now) with a gentleness that surprised him.

“…Techno?”

He hummed, not bothering to give a proper response. Just…an acknowledgment. Anything else, at this stage of awareness, was too much effort to give.

“…Yeah, you’re exhausted. Let me just wash out your hair before you sleep, okay? And I can braid it up for you, if you want? Sit down right there, just like that, lean back, give me just a bit…”

It ended up being more than _a bit_ , but Techno didn’t mind, not when that unstoppered trust swelled and melted over his skin to stay. It was a perfectly fine opportunity to be just _this_ side of dozing, drifting along as careful fingers picked at the tangles in his hair, as water was poured over it (carefully missing his face, his body), as clumped dirt was slowly broken apart and washed away.

Techno closed his eyes and let the sensations linger.

In the depths of his mind, he wondered if this had ever happened before. If Techno had been half-asleep, roughed up from work, or farming, or whatever past-false-him had done, and Phil had washed out his hair then so it wasn’t terrible come the next day. It would certainly explain the ease with which Phil got through it all, raking and picking most of the worst parts out and then going in with warmer water, with shampoo and conditioner that smelled herbal- something that he felt like he could almost name, so close yet so far from murmuring its name.

The whole experience- the actions, the sounds, the smells- were _nostalgic_. Techno…wasn’t sure if he liked that.

It was too short a stretch of time to truly fall asleep, but he was still disgruntled when Phil shook his shoulder lightly, still squinted up at Phil’s face when he got out of his half-asleep funk. There was a warm, dry towel around his hair, keeping it from soaking his still-dirty clothes, and it was those that Phil seemed to focus on and frown at after half a second.

“…I still have some stuff in your size in the house,” he eventually said, standing up and helping Techno up with the ease of someone that had done this to his littler siblings far too often. “In your room. Just…I’m not sure if I have an extra of your cloak, not when you took all of them to Hypixel, but you might not remember that either…”

Phil hummed indecisively before looking Techno in the eye. He stared back with the gaze of a person that had absolutely no idea what the _fuck_ the other was talking about.

“…That’s a no, then. Let’s just get you some clean clothes and to sleep, and we can…talk in the morning. That sounds good.”

He grunted. No, he didn’t want to talk, not when Phil had tried that before, not when it was only bearable when he talked about things that sparked nothing in him-

“And we _are_ talking, Techno,” Phil said, almost as if he were reading his mind while helping him up from where he had been sitting against the outer edge of a bathtub. “I know you’re not a big talker, never were, but you’ve worried us all beyond belief, Techno. While I’m not letting the others know or come in for a bit…even though they probably won’t be happy when they find out, I need to know how you’re doing before they barge in. I need to know when you’ll be ready for visitors, what you want, what you need in general. Okay?”

Another grunt. Did it even matter?

“…Please answer me, Techno.”

“…’Ys,” he muttered, shrinking and letting a hand drift up to touch the warmed blanket wrapping up his hair. It got quickly patted down back to his side again, a small hum from the blonde warning him against trying that again.

At least that seemed an acceptable response.

Phil guided him, both of their movements lethargic and clumsy, to a space that didn’t feel like _his_ , given that…his home was just the forest, the fields, the island. His home, the home in his heart, was the wind on his face, snow falling in winter, instead of a pleasurably warm room decorated with…with swords, and bows, and…other things, bits and bobs that spoke of a life. A history.

It was enough to make him stare, wide-eyed and mouth open, but not enough for him to demand an explanation while his body complained of a lack of sleep. It was easier to sigh, shake his head, and nod at Phil when he left and closed the door to give him some privacy, waiting clearly right outside, a clear _change and then a quick chat_.

The clothes were so different than the ones he had been wearing. They were soft, they had no holes, no scrappy edges, but despite all of the differences, they felt…comforting. To Techno, it was almost as if he was someone else in the minute it took to pick out clothes without thought- a look in a small mirror in the room and he didn’t know who stared back at him.

(Who was the impostor? The pink-haired man with clean clothes or the dirt-stained farmer with a ragged shawl over everything? Which was the face he wanted to see the least?)

He opened the door to Phil. He didn’t want to think about it, not now.

“If you wake up in the middle of the night,” he said patiently to Techno, face not showing whether he was shocked by the differences between the Techno of thirty minutes ago and now, “either find me or just stay in the house, okay? Since you were last here, I did a bit of landscaping and I may have missed a bit of safeguarding against mobs. No going out to fight them. Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.”

…What was he talking about? None of that made sense. Why would he need safeguarding against cows and sheep? Foxes, maybe, but they were just…playful, if rather nippy. He frowned, pensive- _perhaps he just wants me to stay no matter what, thinks I don’t know what worlds have in them-_ but eventually he just nodded and kept a stone face through the rambling instructions. He’d figure things out as he encountered them. Right now he just needed to…to…

Phil laughed when Techno yawned, long and slow, and ushered him back into the room with squinting eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I’ll see you in the morning, okay? I know the sun’s just setting now here, the time’s set a bit different than on Hypixel, but just…sleep. You…”

Phil yawned. He yawned and then blinked, clearly startled at himself before his eyes focused back on Techno. “ _You_ did that,” he accused, and Techno took a step back, giving a slow blink of his own ( _What? Was there hostility in his voice- that wasn’t hostility, right?_ ) before the moment seemed to settle. “Hah- heh- anyways. You… _we_ both clearly need it. Sleep tight, Techno.”

And then the door was closed.

Techno was alone, in a room that was and wasn’t his, and he turned to stare down the bed in the corner.

Perhaps it was to be expected that he ended up in a tight ball on the floor, a blanket dragged down from the well-made bed to be wrapped around him, a cocoon to hide away from the world. Perfectly comfortable, perfectly nice. A hell of a lot better to be on a flatter surface and not be annoyed by lumpy, too-soft surfaces, anyways.

Some sleep sounded so, _so_ very nice.

(Too bad he didn’t end up getting very much of it at all.)

* * *

Techno didn’t know how long it had been, but what he _did_ know was the feeling of restlessness, the desire to get out and get _moving_ on some meaningless task. His eyes, though, open and staring into the low light of the bedroom, flickered to the hallway beyond the door. He could hear Phil faintly snoring in a room somewhere closer to the main room; that made things tricky, he mused, sitting up gingerly and tiptoeing to open the door.

What to do, what to do. He couldn’t find sleep again, not so soon, and he had been forbidden to go outside. He also didn’t particularly want to wake the man up.

Interaction was far too hard to be preferable- so instead, Techno went to go drift around the house, taking in the fragments of a life too far away to remember as he idly roamed. A hand brushed up against a photo near the foyer, four people in it in various states of cheer- one Phil, one the face that looked Techno in the mirror, and two of unknowns. Short, blonde, an angry face. Tall, brown hair. Beanie.

When he looked at them, time seemed to expand and retract, snapping back like a rubber band- and then it was half an hour later, and there was a scowl on his face with nothing to show for it. He withdrew, shot the picture frame an accusatory look, and stuffed his hands in the pockets of the unfairly comfortable clothes he had fished out of the wardrobe, burrowed further into the clothes that smelled distinctly floral, just like whatever Phil had used on his hair.

None of it mattered. There was more to investigate.

Of course, exploring didn’t end up getting him much of anywhere. In the kitchen laid a few messy scribbles taped or stuck to the fridge with magnets that he couldn’t puzzle out. More frames could be found scattered around the messy counter, more bits and pieces of Phil’s daily life laid out for all to see: a handmade mug with ‘POG’ written on the side, lopsided but well-loved. A stack of envelopes that had been opened and had the letters inside put gingerly back where they belonged, stacked neatly on one counter compared to the controlled chaos that surrounded it.

His investigations lead him to the cabinets, to the pantry, to the dark living room. He stared at the couch, at the nearby chair, a bean bag, multiple blankets, all surrounding a well-used coffee table- and he spun around to go back to the kitchen.

Too much, too much, too much. Better to stick to simple cabinets and shitty mugs and drawings he didn’t have to look at instead of being tempted to drink in the sights of things that had seen use by more people than Phil. He ignored the way that his hands reached for things that he didn’t totally understand in his idle movements, Techno only half-aware of his actions as he peered inside the pantry, got out a bit of a pre-made hot chocolate mix, and shuffled right over to the fridge soon after to get a container of milk.

There were pans there, pots here, cabinets that he knew he didn’t need anything from. His hands shook as he went for a large mug from one shelf, something plain and simple that didn’t ring any bells in his mind, and went over to the microwave to stare at it for a long, hard second. Looked at the mug, having poured the milk in it just a second ago.

How long was it for? Was there such a thing as heating liquid up too much?

By the time he had looked back up, his hand had already pressed the button to open the door to the little machine. He pushed the mug inside, closed it, and squinted at the hot cocoa powder container.

…He didn’t know what to do.

It made him sigh, rub at his eyes, and groan. It was what made him press numbers (random? Not? How could he tell?) on it and then the _start_ button, and he leaned over the counter to take deep breaths as it _vrrrr_ ed.

This wasn’t his home. This _couldn’t_ be his home. This was the home of someone who only claimed to be his brother, and no matter how plausible it seemed…he didn’t want to connect those puzzle pieces. Perhaps it had been the residency, once, of someone who had shared his face. Half of the things in the house made him freeze up when he stared at them, made his mind bluescreen (and what was that term meant for, again?) for minutes on end, and that simple part of reality made his hands clench, made the firm line of his mouth tremble.

He just wanted to farm potatoes. He wanted to get away from Phil and his kind smiles, get away before the others that claimed to be his brothers came, but…even with his reluctance to learn more about himself, there was an undeniable allure to it. He had to breathe in the sweet and bitter taste of remembrance, had to go back for that second taste of comfort, just like how he had melted when his hair had been washed.

It was undeniable, no matter how much he told himself that none of it was plausible, that these people knew him. That, at the very least, Phil did- but Techno would deny that internally until he remembered it all in return, would deny it to his dying breath if he could. What kind of a person would he be if all the facts he had lived day to day by on the island had been false?

What kind of a person would he be if he remembered and was once again a stranger to himself twice, thrice over?

He was just a potato farmer. It was his soul, what he breathed, what he ate- potatoes for breakfast, lunch, dinner. Something he could eat whenever he was hungry.

The idea of hot chocolate drawn out of some hidden sliver of himself, though, was too good to ignore.

The various smells of the kitchen didn’t fail to bring him back to the present in his spaced out mindset, the chocolate scent of the powder container taking him back to reality, the vrrrr of the microwave in the air a background hum, the various spices and foods that Phil kept in the kitchen filtering into his sensitive nose and not letting him leave to his thoughts again.

It was all too much and not enough. He was used to the hyper-clear smells of the forest and fields, not the muddled and mixed scents of this kitchen keeping him alert simply through the confusion of trying- and failing- to identify the scents. It made him tense and relax in turns, and if the microwave didn’t go off when it did, Techno would have probably gone into a spiral about that until Phil found him in a puddle on the floor.

As it was, Phil found him as he was in the middle of delicately tapping chocolate powder into the hot milk, trying to find out when it would just…be perfect. How much was too much? Had the fake him of a previous life liked it with more milk or more powder? Had the previous Techno even liked it? His nose wrinkled at the thought before he jumped at the sudden hand on his shoulder, nearly dumping all of the powder into it at once and barely saving it.

“…Hey.” Phil seemed exhausted, torn from seam to seam as he gently took the container from him and tapped a smidge more into the mug. “…That should be enough from what I remember, Techno.”

He had been about to put in thrice that amount. He squinted, clearly suspecting Phil of something, but drifted about in search of something to properly mix it with….

And was promptly handed a spoon.

Techno frowned at Phil, who had already moved away to go do something else, and turned back to mix his chocolate with the sullenness of someone that very much didn’t want everything done for them, especially someone that he was still on uneven footing with. He was sure that his posture looked closed off, defensive, hostile (can’t show the trust, can never show it, not now)- but Phil merely smiled at him and kept bustling around, blinking sleep from his eyes.

Once the mixture was combined, Techno took a hesitant sip.

It was…good. Nice. It was an interesting flavor, one that was and wasn’t a surprise, and he closed his eyes to sigh after he took a long sip. It scalded, but if it was ‘hot’ chocolate, it should do that, right?

He opened his eyes to see Phil staring. He stared back, eyes dark and dull and awash with the lack of sleep he had gotten. Phil looked away.

Techno made his way out of the kitchen (cozy, but not too small, enough to accommodate the two of them and probably one or two more without discomfort) and avoided the living room, drifting around the house and not focusing on one thing, taking sip after sip of the drink, his tongue complaining until it cooled down.

The drink was a flavor that didn’t _feel_ like it should be comforting, but it was, and it set him even further off course than before. His mixed feelings made him go a bit slower, even if he didn’t let himself linger wherever he slowed to a stop. Lingering was bad, it…it…

 _Whatever_. Point was, it wasn’t smart to go looking at every single thing. But…if he kept walking around, he would do that.

The solution?

…Where could he go? Back to the more open common areas? Outside? To a specific room? There was a second floor, he thought, although it seemed like it was just for storage, that tiny upper layer to the place that it seemed from the outside, and perhaps there was a basement, but he hadn’t seen any stairs that lead to one, either. That limited his options if he didn’t want to search overly hard for a place that felt safe, that felt unassuming, something that didn’t try and remind him of things better left untouched.

The choice was easier than it should have been, in the end. He slunk into the bathroom and curled up on one of its mats, letting his knees draw up to his chest while he slowly sipped at the mug.

His toes curled in and out, feeling the soft-ish texture of the mat. There was less pressure on his mind, here- he hadn’t turned the light on, didn’t have any decent amount of moonlight coming in through the room’s tiny window, and thus couldn’t see anything like pictures or keepsakes that could be clustered around the sink’s window.

It was good. Safe. Secure.

“Techno? _Techno?_ ”

He stayed silent when Phil called. He looked into his mug of hot cocoa and saw nothing from the darkness. He took a long sip of the liquid, now just warm instead of hot, and let his knees press tighter to his chest.

“Techno! Please don’t let me look outside, it isn’t safe, oh, gods, if you’re gone again, Techno, I- …oh.”

Techno’s eyes slowly swept to the entrance of the small room. Phil stood in the doorway, clutching the mug he had noted before as well as a bag of….something. A blanket was flung haphazardly over his shoulder, cast in the warm light that the lit up hallway cast upon him.

He said nothing. Phil took in a deep breath and sighed it out, the sound shaky and on the verge of panic. _True_ panic.

“Don’t worry me like that,” he whispered, slowly coming to sit next to him and get them both situated- the mug and bag set aside on the floor, getting the blanket shaken out and pulled around Techno’s shoulders, around his own shoulders. “I can’t lose you again, Techno. I’d be the worst oldest brother if that happened.”

Techno shrugged and turned back to his mug, draining the rest of it before setting the mug down and wrapping his arms around his legs, all pulled up to his chest as they were.

“Techno, I…”

“ _Shhhh_ ,” he said- or rather hissed- back, eyes slowly closing as the warmth of Phil and the mug finally processed. “ _Shhhhhhhhh. Shh._ ” So much easier than speaking. So much kinder to his throat.

“You can’t keep doing this forever, Techno. I know your tricks.”

“No you don’t,” he finally mumbled after a long, long moment, finally resigned to the fact that he’d have to talk to communicate finer points. “Don’t know me. Not ‘rlly. Everything makes my head hurt. Not my r’m. Not my home. Don’t know you.”

It was obvious that he had hurt Phil with those words, considering that reaction of widened eyes and a frozen form, but before Phil could ramble more, try to remind Techno of days long gone and forgotten that he hadn’t been a part of, he hummed and felt himself fall right on back into that apathy, fall into that special place in his mind where nothing mattered. It was easier to fall asleep that way, rather than have his mind race- and it was the most comfortable place yet, especially with Phil tugging him to lean on his side.

(He’d have to take that up with Phil later, have to pick a bone with his ramblings- or maybe not. It’d probably be easier to just get whatever potato farm he was promised and then let the apathy swallow him up and refuse to leave.)

If he had focused just before falling asleep, just before disregarding everything that wasn’t basic warmth and darkness, focused enough to know more of the world around him, he would have heard a fond sigh that was saturated with deep worry. Would have felt being moved onto a bed that felt like everything soft and wrong and not-quite-right, but had once been nothing more than a pad to collapse upon. Would have heard the murmured “Goodnight, Techno,” and let floral-sweet memories bubble up in Phil’s wake.

But instead, Techno kept drifting. It was what he was good at, anyways. At least sleep’s gentle touch came far faster, far easier than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is...a cry for help, once again, and not one edited in after the chapter's been out bahaha
> 
> if anyone knows any good discord servers for techno / sleepy boys / etc that's pretty chill, pretty into character introspection...hit me up. i might end up making one but i doubt itd get many people at all! but tell me if that's what you'd prefer, huh? i'd like to talk to people both about this and about more general things. i can't really handle twitter. (who watched any of the streams on the 16th? jesus christ.)
> 
> [EDIT: discord server has been made, both for fic purposes and as a general sbi chat. can be found in both ch4 end notes AND general end notes.]
> 
> anyhow. as you can see, we're well and truly into the vibing part of this story...


	4. iv. i want the secrets your secrets haven't found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potatoes are planted. Nights grow ever deeper. Adjusting to such a new life isn't that easy. 
> 
> (Or: In most cases, living somewhere means you're expected to help out with the common struggles of life. Phil's little server is no exception.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "human" by dodie]

The lack of a routine in Phil’s world was unsettling. Unnatural. It made Techno’s hands clench and unclench constantly, anxiety bubbling through his veins at the fact that the routine he had gone with for months and months, over a year, all of the time he remembered living just wasn’t feasible here.

There must have been a _look_ in his eyes when he had been thinking about it the first full day there, for after eating breakfast (not potatoes, which left Techno disinterestedly picking at whatever boring, flavorful food Phil had cooked up), Phil took him outside.

Phil had told him to _get ready_ , first, whatever _that_ entailed, and so Techno had been left in his room not ten minutes earlier with a deep sense of confusion, staring at the room around him. In the end, he only grabbed a few things that weren’t from the wardrobe, dried lavender sitting at its bottom- his threadbare pack that had carried his essentials in his own world, including his farming tools, and what looked like a walking stick leaning against a wall, bare and simple. Sturdy. Respectable.

In the proper light of day, Techno could faintly appreciate the land around Phil’s home. It was flat towards the ocean’s edge, but as he looked behind the house it turned into rolling hills, into thick forest, into mountains on the horizon. He tugged at the sleeves of his shirt, sighed, and looked up at Phil, who had…light armor on? And a _sword_ strapped to his belt?

It was the look of shock on his face, though, that made Techno blink even more- and then he opened his mouth, and an even more confusing set of words than _I’m your brother, Techno, and this world is bugged_ poured out of his mouth.

“…Why aren’t you wearing your armor, Techno? Where’s your axe?”

It stunned Techno enough, in fact, that his mouth moved without him thinking.

“Why would I-” and _there_ was the coughing, that familiar friend, and how he longed for the times when nobody was there to demand conversation with him- “Why…Why would I need any of it? Nothing’s- going to attack, right? I mean maybe- maybe an angry cow-”

Oh. And _there_ was the devastated look that Techno had half been expecting to pop up again, the kind that said _you poor soul, you know so little, it hurts me to see you not as the person I expect you to be._ It made him bristle, mouth curling into a small frown, but Phil just looked…sad. Quiet.

He didn’t like it.

“That world- it- it-” Phil broke off to wipe at something on his face. Techno, losing interest just as fast as he had gained it, started to look away. “That world _changed_ you,” he whispered, “it really did, it changed…gods, it changed such a big part of you.”

 _Thank you very much for making me feel better about this whole situation, brother-that-may-as-well-not-be-my-brother_.

“I just want a farm,” he murmured in half-response, already walking away towards the hills. He didn’t want to talk about that, about lives that weren’t worth the cost of remembering, the cost that he could practically see Phil weighing in his mind. Instead of dwelling on that, of letting the passiveness that clung to him spin into overthinking things, he let his mind drift to where he could set up a farm.

“Techno…”

Would potatoes fare well in the hills he stared down? Would the hills be a detriment to the construction of a farm in the end, or would it not matter?

He let his toes curl in a patch of ground that was more dirt than grass. _Hm_.

If the regular soil wasn’t the best for crops, he could always grow them underground, right? There was something that tickled the back of his mind about underground farms, something that perhaps he had done in his original world and abandoned. It was an interesting thought for later, but it didn’t matter at the moment. What mattered was scoping out the perfect place for a farm.

“Techno? You know I wasn’t…saying that you’re a different person, right? I’d be- happy to help you with a farm.”

All that man could spew out were words upon useless, useless words. There was no point in even attempting to tune back in. He crouched down to poke the ground that he stopped at, rubbing blades of grass between his fingers, digging them into the ground so he could get a better sense of the soil.

There had never been an ocean on his island. This would be a trial-and-error kind of farm no matter where around here he placed it.

“You’ll get the farm, Techno! Just-”

His hand closed on his shoulder yet fucking _again_ , and Techno blinked. Stopped. Slowly pried the hand off of him. Kept going.

He didn’t feel in his body, not quite. He breathed in fresh coastal air and breathed out awareness- and the next thing he knew, his body howled get off of me _get off of me_ ** _get off of me_** and he was torn back to where he once was, the world murky to his senses as his body whirled around on instinct. His body was operating on pure panic, on the sudden doublespeed beat of his heart, on the one blazing point where he could tell someone was touching him, what the hell was going on-

 _The hell,_ apparently, turned out to be him blinking at the hand on him before he pushed Phil harshly away, snarling with the force of someone only half-aware of their actions, grasping at Phil’s sword that was strapped to him on pure instinct and taking it away smoothly under the man’s shock. It only took a twirl, a spin, a lunge-

And Techno stared directly at Phil’s eyes, the man’s mouth in a grim line his hand bled, clutching at the blade that had been moving like lightning to pierce him in the chest.

Techno froze-

-and suddenly everything was too much to handle, his heart pounding in his ears, doublespeed in doubletime with adrenaline, and the knowledge that something was very, _very_ wrong pressed down on him with the weight of cold, hard stone.

 _He couldn’t breathe_.

How did he know how to do that? Why had he done it to _Phil?_ _Why had he nearly killed the man?_

He gasped with the force of the confusion, staggering back from Phil and looking down at his hands once they had dropped the sword. They were worn, calloused (from handling a hoe, from farming, from long nights holding a fishing rod for nothing to ever, ever bite, not from fighting, never from fighting-), shaking- and for a second, he could imagine blood coating them, dark and wet and collecting under his nails- before he looked back up at Phil.

He looked…conflicted. Something in Phil seemed happy, jubilant- and who seemed jubilant at nearly getting killed?- but there was a seriousness to him that he hadn’t seen before, not even when he was staring him down at horror from the server’s conditions. He had already sheathed back the sword, as if that solved everything, but Techno could see him wipe his hand on his side, grimacing at how it clearly stung, at how even gloves couldn’t protect him fully from gripping the blade.

Apologies had to be made. The regret was there, the remorse, the all-encompassing panic that threatened to flood him was so clearly present- but he bit an _I’m sorry_ back, locking those two words behind his lips just as Phil’s eyes went back up to meet his.

Techno shut his mouth tight, tried to lock that impulse to let that remorse out, the impulse that had sprung out into the void of his mind going back behind bars, and forced his hands to stay clenched at his sides.

He couldn’t allow himself to feel sorry. Couldn’t let it spring back up. _Boundaries were there to be kept._

They were at a stalemate. Phil looked as if there were a million words to say. Techno entertained the thought: _Why did you do that? Why’d you hurt me? Aren’t you my brother? What kind of a person are you?_

 _I’m thinking the same thing,_ he would say in a world where those words weren’t under his own lock and key, unreachable and unknowable. _I’m as much of a stranger to me as I am to you_.

“Techno-” Phil looked as if he was about to say something, about to lecture and say all the things that he had thought he would say- but seconds later, he sighed. Deflated. “…Nevermind.” _Finally,_ pity for him.

But…it didn’t quite look like pity, the flash of Phil’s gaze as he gestured for Techno to follow him, unreadable in his motions and a puzzle clear on his face. Subdued, he did so, hunched over to try and look…less like whatever he had looked like before.

How did Phil see him?

Had he looked like a monster in that split second of wild movement, of untamed energy? Had he looked like something horrible, something terrible, something that made Phil’s gaze hard and angry and-

And why did he even worry about it? Why did he care what Phil thought?

Truly, Techno didn’t know what kind of person was trapped under his skin, waiting patiently to claw its way out. He didn’t know anything other than the life he had been living. Even as the apathy drew its lovely veil across his personal sky, he couldn’t help but think and think and think about the situation, and wasn’t that novel? Wasn’t it amazing, to not be kept such a prisoner by that lethargy?

But, still, he was undeniably jailed. Techno was still under the surface, unable to come up for air. He drowned as Phil, stiff in posture and gait, took him to an empty stretch of land, his attention constantly going to the nearby forest ( _dark, dangerous,_ something deep in Techno murmured, while the other pieces of him yelled _safe, bright, open, go explore, some bushes hold berries_ ) as Techno stared down the land.

He let himself just…walk. Walked in circles, thought of the soil, tried his hardest to ignore what the him of only a few minutes ago had done just as Phil was doing. He knelt down to let his fingers scrabble again at the dirt, breaking up the grass until there was only the pure ground underneath for him to grasp at. He took a fistful, sniffed, stared-

…Could it be inferred, how oceans affected growth? How…how…he had once known this, surely, even though his knowledge had been more island-geared. The knowledge didn’t come to his mind, though, no matter how much he fished for it, and he left that blank part of him to sigh.

No matter where he’d put the potatoes, it’d have to do. It didn’t have to be what he survived on anymore, even if that was what he wanted to happen. This wasn’t for sustainability. This was for comfort.

“A field can go down closer to the house,” he murmured, and all Phil did was look back at him, eyes clouded with an emotion Techno couldn’t name, couldn’t pinpoint. Techno let that stare prickle at his back as he retreated, retracing their steps all the way back down to the house, back down to where he pulled out his tools and got to work.

He didn’t exactly remember making those original fields, but he knew how to perform maintenance. He knew that he’d need some wood, need some better things to tear up large amounts of dirt, but…that wasn’t the point of it all, was it? The point of it was to work, whether it was just with his hands or with specialized tools.

It’d all get done in the end.

Thirty minutes later (a minute later, to Techno, enough time to slip away and then find himself jarringly back to flesh and bone and the ground firm under his feet), Phil stopped him by planting himself in Techno’s way. He didn’t come close to touching him. He looked conflicted.

“…What do you need me to do, Techno?”

Techno considered the broken ground beneath his feet. Let himself consider the dirt again, a new perspective now that it had been started, and looked back up towards the forest, the one that Phil had looked at with a dubious hum earlier.

It would be small, but he could start by marking part of this soil with the walking stick, making Phil head up there and get some wood for a shoddy fence…

Techno grunted, shook his head, and went back to work. When the fence had to go up, he could do it himself. It didn’t matter, the way Phil lingered like a hurt little bee at the edge of his vision. It didn’t.

And if he lost himself in the plan, ignoring Phil again and again until the man just sighed, stuck around the outside of the house, and got to his own work around the area…

Well, that was for the best. Techno worked alone.

* * *

Phil kept subtly trying to get Techno to _think_ about things.

Not think of things in an _easy_ way, not like how he could consider the sky in the evening and drift away with the clouds, not like how a freshly-microwaved drink in a mug heated his hands and scalded his tongue in that simple, contented way of the world. He didn’t let that happen.

No, Phil kept trying to get him to consider things like the sword that the man often used, especially after he stopped Techno from working on his rough field so he’d eat lunch. Phil practiced something at the edge of the vision, and Techno felt his eyes zero in on that, finding himself wanting to do… _something_. To walk up and stare and…say or think or _do_ something, and it made him grit his teeth and look away. _Not today._ But a minute later, Phil would be back in the corner of his vision.

He talked out loud when he wasn’t practicing with his sword, spun stories about nights spent by a fire and fishing during storms. This, Techno couldn’t fully block out, even as he found himself again slipping from reality- there’d always be a laugh that drew him back as Phil said something to himself, always a swish of the sword that struck a chord inside of Techno.

Techno just wanted to be left _alone_. He just wanted to feel like he could properly breathe, wanted to feel like something other than a wayward charge that had to be near-constantly watched. It got to the point that he snarled whenever Phil got too close, making the other man back off and hover a hand stray over his sword’s handle- not to use it, but to keep Techno from doing…whatever he had done a few days ago, back in that tempest of a morning.

At least the farm- more of a garden at this point, honestly- was coming along. He hadn’t yet planted any potatoes, simply worked on the state of it and readied it for seeds, but in a look at the pantry the night before, there had to be some potatoes among the seed storage Phil kept.

The act of creating the garden was, perhaps, the only thing that had saved Phil so far from Techno’s wrath. If he was on that other side of being, if he was on that other flip of the coin that meant he thought and thought and _thought_ about everything- would the mindless work have been enough for the restless energy in him?

As the days progressed, as a few days rolled into one week that rolled into two, as they coexisted and ate and Phil talked and Techno listened, Phil and Techno got very, very slowly to a breaking point.

That _breaking point_ came with Phil asking him to _help_ with something one evening. Techno trailed after him, looking back longingly at his garden (potatoes freshly planted, wouldn’t be grown for a while yet, but it was a comfort to keep weeds out and double-check progress and slowly upgrade everything around it) until Phil stopped at the edge of the woods.

Wait. _The woods?_

When a sword was dropped into his hands, he nearly fumbled and dropped it. He looked at it and then back at Phil, whose eyes glittered with the hardness of granite.

“I can’t fight,” Techno mumbled.

_Lie. Lie. You know it’s a lie, deep down inside, don’t you? You know the feeling of raking a sword through someone, diving down on them with an axe, breathing in the praise when you’re the only one left-_

He stopped the intrusive, unknown thought and gripped the sword tighter. Phil didn’t budge.

“This is something that needs to be done to keep this place as safe as it can be,” he said firmly, staring down at Techno with a sharp eye. “You live here. You help here. You can do this.”

_I live here because you took me from my home. I live here because you stole me away from my sanctuary and got me to put my trust in you and pushed, and pushed, and pushed even after I got here._

There was something like regret in Phil’s eyes. (Wasn’t it fascinating, that only now he could properly identify it?) After a beat, though, it cleared back to that solid wall. “You help here,” he repeated firmly. “So you’re going to go in that forest and make sure monsters aren’t waiting to come out if we have to pass through this area soon.” A pause. “I will be…out here. I’ll know if you try and…not do it.”

How… _heartening_.

It was how he found himself a few minutes later out in the darkening wild, alone and holding a sword made of glimmering iron, lightweight and agile. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be edged with- with diamond. Techno grimaced at it- _how much time had this taken, why did Phil trust me with it, hey, doesn’t it actually look like one of the swords on the wall of the bedroom I was given, wait-_ sheathed it, and trudged onwards under the embrace of the darkening forest.

He wasn’t a fighter. He didn’t know what Phil would prove by doing this, he mused, especially after ten, fifteen minutes brought no hiss, no groan of a zombie that he had heard one day as one had crawled out of the woods to die- nothing.

It was probably to be expected that Phil had a trick up his sleeve, but he didn’t know _what_. It felt like there were eyes watching him- a figure that darted around when he looked back- but he couldn’t find anything. There was no monster to be had, not one running in his veins or showing itself in Phil’s eyes or creeping through the underbrush, waiting to strike when he least expected it.

He was safe.

And then he wasn’t.

One singular _ssshh_ -

-and he plunged the sword deep into a spider, backing up as its surrounding group descended and crowded around him, on the ground and in the trees and _oh, gods, he had no armor._ The spider that he had gotten with a move that he didn’t know, something that twisted in and plunged deep and shocked both him and the creature- was ripped apart.

Techno leaned back. He tilted his head up, took in a breath, and let his legs set on memories long shredded and gone, let them balance before he blurred into confused motion-

* * *

“Steady- center yourself, like this. You have to have a strong base if you don’t want to get swept off your feet.”

“Come on, Techno! You’re not even letting me get to any of the cool stuff!”

“The cool stuff,” he said mildly, “won’t be cool if you can’t even get the chance to pull them off to begin with.”

“That’s not fair!” The child in front of him threw down his wooden practice sword and gave a scream- one that didn’t even make the two out by the fishing docks, still engrossed in conversation, pause. Techno tilted his head. “I know I can do it, I really can, and I can go out with you and be your partner in all those tournaments that you don’t do because you go solo- even, like, Wilbur- Wilbur, fuckin’ _Wilbur_ can do all that cool stuff-”

“He can’t.”

“-and if you don’t let me do it, I’m going to make Ph- what?”

“He _can’t_ , Tommy,” Techno repeated, and let his posture finally relax when it seemed Tommy wouldn’t be springing at him for a while yet. “The cool stuff takes…years to pull off.” He waved a hand as if that explained it all, and smirked when Tommy still fumed. “Phil can’t pull most of ‘em off, too.”

“But- he’s years older than you and Wil and-”

“He helps us _survive, Tommy,_ he doesn’t go on rampages or fight in tournaments.” Techno raised his sword firmly into the light, tilting it this way and that to let the diamond-edged iron catch the glimmering sun. With a smooth motion, he flung it up- and swept low when Tommy was busy gaping at the showy display, grabbing the forgotten wooden sword and letting his own plunge into the ground where he had stood.

By the time it had sunk into the ground, he had that wooden sword against Tommy’s throat, and the smile on his face was something thin, something _brittle_. Tommy froze.

“I,” Techno said softly, voice saturated with terrible emphasis, “help to _destroy_.”

* * *

He panted, heart beating right on out of his chest as he stood there, staring down at his untrustworthy hands, at the sword that was clasped tight in them. He couldn’t recognize where he was, what was going on- but there were dead spiders in a ring, and he was coated with things he’d rather not have on the clothes he had just been getting used to.

But there were more pressing matters, such as- as- whatever _that_ had been.

A child. A sword- no, _two_ swords.

Some parts clicked, and others not at all, and all Techno could truly feel was a cold, seething, unstoppable rage pointed at one person in particular. The intensity of it almost swept him away, the sword rattling in his grip, but he managed to sheathe it and…try to calm his breathing down. Neither part of him was used to that kind of rush, that kind of high-riding emotion. One part of him was panicking, used to nothingness- the other felt like that, anyways, but not so…strongly. (Of course, of course.)

What kind of person put their (charge? Friend? _Brother?_ ) temporary companion into such danger just to ‘keep their home safe’? That ambush _screamed_ of having been planned, of him having been nudged towards it or the spiders not having been killed before.

For better or for worse, though, there was some part of him that _remembered something_ , and it made him want to run. It made him want to tear himself apart bit by bit and scream because _he was not a killer_. He wasn’t one who wanted to fight, but he _was,_ he was a person who delighted in a challenge but he was still someone who just wanted to farm potatoes.

All he wanted to do was farm potatoes.

All he wanted to do was seek that next high.

All he wanted was to crawl into a small, dark corner and let himself fall apart.

Techno steadied his feet, took in another shuddering, horrid breath, and started on a near-straight line back to where he had started.

He knew these woods. He didn’t know these woods. His course led him straight where he expected to go.

He hated that, somewhere inside, he knew that he could never truly separate himself from that everlasting orbit of Phil’s home. ( _His_ home?)

As he walked out of that forest, Phil stood exactly in the same point he had been in before. Techno, with the certainty of a man possessed by someone who was not them, could just _tell_ that Phil had followed him the whole time.

Phil looked him up and down. Stared at the sword at his waist, covered in spider guts.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Techno,” he said. Soft. _Warm_. Like he had finally seen a true glimpse of what he had been looking for ever since their first meeting in Techno’s dead stare.

It just made the punch to Phil’s face, hand coated with spider remains and with a near-perfect technique, all the sweeter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this'll be both in this chapter and in general end notes just so it's not entirely missed.
> 
>  **there is a discord server now!** it's not just for the fic, but intended as a general SBI discord, since i really haven't seen any discords that i'd like to join that are pretty chill lately. please be kind, as it's not exactly starting off with a whole lot of people, yeah? i'd love even a few people to regularly chat to!
> 
> to hop on over, the link is: https://discord.gg/5MzGm5YJ9r
> 
> i hope to see at least a few of you there! regular updates and news about the fic will also be available there.


	5. v. the oak tree and its resurrection fern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm's been broken, and they're left to root around in its aftermath. Phil gives a fishing lesson. Techno is given a familiar piece of clothing.
> 
> (Or: Techno didn't exactly expect something to bite, when he cast his line out at the dock's edge.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "resurrection fern" by iron and wine]

“…I shouldn’t have done that, huh?”

“No,” Techno said, flat and dry, staring up at the ceiling as he dried his own hair. He wrapped a towel around it as soon as he finished changing clothes, leaning against the bedroom door with dark eyes and damp hands. A shower had gotten most of the gunk out, another one had done the trick, and he didn’t regret the trail of water from the bathroom to the room he had been sleeping in at all. “You shouldn’t’ve.”

From the other side of the door, Phil sighed. Techno could hear the _thunk_ of his head landing against the door. “I’m the worst older brother,” he murmured. “I just- I just thought…”

He fell quiet. Techno sighed and shook his head before bringing a hand up to the towel that was very much slipping.

“Don’t say that.”

Techno froze as he was adjusting the towel around his hair, just as shocked by the words that slipped out of his mouth as Phil had to be. Silence passed for one beat, two.

“I don’t- really know you that well,” Techno continued in a quieter tone, shrinking as if Phil could actually see him. “But you’re. Alright. When you’re not trying to…make me remember.”

“…Like how I trained in front of you.”

“Mmm.”

“And kept talking about…everything.”

“Mhmm.”

“…I’m sorry, Techno. I just- it was like you were a totally different person- like you _are_ -”

“Hm.”

“…And you’re done talking for the evening. I get it, I get it. Doesn’t matter whether it’s because you don’t want to speak to me or…or you’re just all talked out for today.”

He was all talked out for the next _month_ , Techno decided instantly, but just picked at the little bit of whatever was under his fingernails instead of even humming to respond. He squeezed the towel a bit as an afterthought for all the water in his hair, made sure his clothes weren’t too soaked, and opened the door a crack.

Two watery eyes stared back at him.

“You’ve just…not been _responding_ to anything,” Phil whispered. “Not in a talking way, I mean- I mean just in a _recognizing what I’m saying_ kind of way. I don’t think you’ve been listening to what I’ve had to say, more than half the time. It’s worrying, you know? I don’t- don’t know what I’d do if I really had lost you for good. Even now, Tommy and Wilbur would handle this horribly. I’m trying my best, Techno. I- I-”

Aw, _fuck,_ those were definitely tears.

“I really a-am.”

What was Techno, when he was an amnesiac that ended up stiffly holding his taller older brother as he cried? What was Techno, what kind of monster was he to only feel a wash of sadness as this person broke down, this person that was _(is?)_ his brother (but wasn’t, he couldn’t remember, how could he remember that he fought, that he craved that adrenaline, that sense of power, but not remember this fragile person right in front of him?) sob into his pants, Phil on the floor and Techno standing?

Techno looked down at his two hands. They trembled, lightly, and he forced them still. That only made them shake more after a few seconds. _God, how ineffective could he be at comfort, how could he be so horrible_ -

He broke a little that night, too, with all the words he wanted to say but couldn’t get out, even when he wheezed from the effort.

_Even though I don’t know you, I think I finally might want to try and discover who I used to be._

_You- you can help with that, right?_

_Right?_

_I still can’t get close, not really, but- I’ll listen, I swear, I swear, Phil-_

The moon hung high in the sky. They stayed there, one full of despair and the other a pool of faint sorrow, until Phil’s tears dried. Techno refused to take his subsequent apologies for it all- making him go out, forcing him to remember (even if Phil didn’t know about it), crying on him afterwards. Perhaps if he let it pass, things would go back to a tolerable _normal_.

Techno only left after that to make hot cocoa- making it like how he had every time since Phil had shown him the proper amount, and tipping in what felt _right_ for Phil’s. After a moment of consideration- and a moment where his body went by instinct, his mind thinking about something else completely- he dropped a handful of marshmallows into Phil’s, collected the two mugs, and sighed. Knocked on the closed door to Phil’s room, where the man had retreated after Techno had withdrawn, with his foot.

It creaked open a foot. Then two.

He offered the mug to Phil, who was sat on the edge of a bed, and watched as he teared up again.

“Just how I like it,” he whispered, and Techno froze, mind racing a mile a minute- _how did I know that, is he thinking about the false me, am I becoming that false me, no, I can’t_ \- before Phil finally just smiled at him, teary-eyed and quiet, and almost-but-not-quite-closed the door when Techno backed up.

It stayed open a centimeter as if to say _you can come in, if you want. I don’t mind._

Despite all the progress- and the steps back, if one thought about it- from the past twenty-four hours, Techno retreated back to his own room (and wasn’t that a hoot, slowly coming to think of it as his room again…although he lacked so, so many of the memories to accompany it-) and let the still piping-hot cocoa burn his tongue and scald his throat in silence.

He closed his eyes.

_Maybe the way to drink hot chocolate isn’t to have it actually harm me in the process._

…No. What a ludicrous idea.

He kept on drinking until he couldn’t taste anything, even if he tried.

* * *

The two of them didn’t speak a word about that night, about opportunities gone wasted, about the way that the cracks in the both of them widened when Techno backed away from simple companionship. The days passed, and finally, they found their new _normal_.

* * *

He hadn’t expected to get a bite when sitting on the fishing dock, line in the water and the ocean waves gentle, but he found himself torn out of a blank daydream to feel something… _tugging_ on the fishing rod.

Techno blinked down at it. Was it breaking? What was going _on?_ It was a moment later that he looked to where the line met the water and saw it rippling a bit.

He considered the fishing rod for a beat and then turned to Phil, who was fishing further down the dock, closer to its end.

…What could he do if he wanted to grab his attention- no. No, the only thing that would do it was talking, and even if he stayed mostly silent, he’d have to get Phil’s attention in _some_ way that involved making noise.

“Phil,” he called out, just barely audible over the gentle oceanside atmosphere. Thankfully, Phil’s sharp hearing had him turn around, and Techno was able to let go with one hand to gesture at what the other hand was holding.

“ _…What do I do?_ ”

Another beat or two- and then Phil was cackling, almost letting go of his own tool in his amusement. Techno frowned at him. What was so funny about it? There wasn’t supposed to be anything to catch the line! Was it a rock? Was it something else? Phil had only joined him a few minutes ago, and-

“Techno,” the man wheezed, a rattling sound of delight, “you have a- a fish on the line! Reel- reel it in!”

_What the fuck?_

He did as he was told, marveling at the fact that the line didn’t go easily. Something tugged at it, swerved, and he reeled it in faster, held the tool tighter…to find, in fact, a wriggling _fish_ on the end of the line. That was what he assumed, at least- Phil had called it a fish. If he was hard pressed, he’d just call it _strange_. He grimaced at it and ignored Phil’s continued wheezing.

“This is just,” he laughed, “like the first time I took you fishing, oh gods, almost the exact same-”

The frown wavered on Techno’s face. He considered the fish a second longer, and fully reeled the fish in to lay it in his lap, hold it still, and slowly…unhook it from the end, careful and smooth. It struggled, but with enough force it got out without too much injury, and Techno let it slip into the water to swim away.

“What,” Techno said slowly, eyes on the ocean in front of him, “was I like back then?”

All he could hear was the ocean, the murmur of the tides, the birds _caw_ ing from far away. Phil’s little intake of breath at his first inquiry about himself.

 _Not quite ‘what was I like’ in general-_ but Phil seemed to get the idea. He reeled in his own line- empty- and came to sit next to Techno, maintaining the distance that Techno had regularly established between them since Phil had found them. _Good. If I want hugs, or to be touched on the shoulder, or- whatever- I’ll start it. Good. This is fine._

“You’re still pretty similar, at heart,” Phil said, quiet as they sat there, as he cast a line again. After a minute, Techno did the same. “…Even though it can be a whole canyon away for other things. Always pretty quiet, pretty blunt. It’s just that memories shape people, yeah?” Techno glanced over to see Phil’s smile grown crooked again, just like how they had stared at each other over a low fire so long and so near ago.

He thought of that person from a week, two weeks, two and a half weeks ago, watching him bake potatoes, their tired face overlayed on the more fond look of today.

“I found you in a forest, fighting monsters with a sword of red stone from the Nether.” What in the world was the ‘Nether’? “A hell of a fighter, even as a little kid. I was young- a dumb teenager, fresh away from home and determined to have my own life just like all the stories about small servers went- and I found Wilbur a few months into my new life, and then I found you a year after that.”

Techno breathed in the air sharply and let it out with a long, measured exhale. His line swayed with the breeze.

 _A red sword. Red stone. Red_.

He could get a flash there, a scent there- blood, pine needles, lavender, _home_.

A scream.

Was it possible at all to block one’s memories? Could he get all of the information about the stranger that used to wear his skin and keep that as a separate thing, like a story? Oh, how he wished that would be the case.

“You were so _small,_ ” Phil said, awe and wonder tracing his voice as he stretched an arm out as if to show him a height. “And you were a bit feral, but it wasn’t that bad, I’m pretty sure that you…well. No, you actually were mostly feral, didn’t know any human language. I mean, I wasn’t exactly on a private server at the time like I’ve been for years and years now, but barely anyone was on that one, and it was _old._ Someone must have- left you in the Nether, after you were born. Sometimes, hybrids...”

Techno grunted. Hybrids? Not knowing language? The only explanation for it was that the person who Phil thought he was really was a stranger, but that memory, training that child, the people on the dock-

…It had to be real in some fashion, right?

If he focused on his slowly blossoming headache, he thought he could reach to the deepest parts of the haze that clouded his recall, but it was all harsh-sounding words and growled syllables and clashing sounds.

Once upon a time, the him of the past had been a child. _Feral_.

Feral as in foxes, as in animals? As in the spiders that he had fought days ago?

“…You never really wanted to talk about it.” Phil murmured. “So. You’re the only one who really…” He waved a hand. “Could know about the time before I found you. Dig down deep, or something. But I figured some parts out. You were sharp and smart, but you couldn’t really speak that well and you wanted your alone time. You and Wilbur were at each other’s throats whenever he got a bit too curious. Fun times, dragging the two of you apart.”

Something tugged on Phil’s line. There was a moment where Phil paused, and then sprung into action, reeling it in expertly to find…a small fish on the end of the line.

“Too small to eat,” he declared, and let it slip back into the water just like Techno had done.

Huh.

“But…yeah.” Phil chuckled. “A fighter.” He cast the line back out. “A farmer, when you seemed to get bored of the bulk of what you were doing. But…in the end…in the end, those two aren’t too different in your context if you think about it, you know? It’s in your blood, and then it’s there to stay. Two sides of the same coin, fighting and farming.”

“Not really,” Techno breathed out, clenching the fishing rod just a bit too hard. “Not even…close.”

“Give it time, Techno. Just a bit more time.”

On the wind, Techno could have sworn that there was cinnamon, warmth, the feeling of days gone by wrapping around him- and then it was just the two of them, salt and water biting at his skin, and there was a fish once again tugging on his line.

How long did he have to wait to gain more than a glimpse, more than a clue? How long did he have to wait until everything clicked and the frustration of being locked behind a gate finally passed? What kind of creature would he be once the gates threw themselves open, pulling him into a forceful metamorphosis?

He cared for the man beside him, cared for him enough to follow his word even when he thought it dubious, enough to comfort him in the middle of the night, but he didn’t know the exact reasons _why._ Stories didn’t tell him anything that was really, truly worth it.

He mulled it over, tossed and turned the thoughts in his mind like a cat playing with a small ball of yarn. The wind tickled at the loose strands of hair that had escaped from his lazy ponytail.

The fish that he pulled out glimmered in the light, long and sharp and with eyes like rubies. He let it wriggle from side to side and watched it flash at every turn. Watched it squirm, for a second or two, flicking water everywhere it went.

 _Time,_ Phil had said. _Give it time._

He let the fish free. Phil seemed to be examining a new catch of his own that could make for a better meal, and he’d rather not watch Phil prepare a fish with eyes shinning the same color as its blood-

This was…a nice place to spend some time in. The dock, while it wasn’t the garden, could lull him into staying for hours on end sitting at its edge.

Phil clearly seemed to appreciate a fishing partner, at least.

* * *

Time did not stop in this world for a lost farmer and his so-called brother. Techno measured that endless march of the sever less in _days_ and _hours_ and _minutes_ and measured it instead in _moments_ , in _smells_ , in _memories._

He and Phil shared hot cocoa one other sleepless night, perching on a couch in the living room that Techno had been avoiding. He breathed it in, the warmth and peace and quiet- and one piece of the puzzle unobtrusively settled itself into place.

Movies had been watched there. Board games had been fought over, even though the exact arguments, the exact voices had been forgotten. His eyes passed over a photo and a thought flickered into being:

_Gods, Tommy looks like such a nerd there._

His fingers clenched tighter around his mug. Phil started on about some story of a fish that he had caught a few months ago in the middle of a storm, and Techno wondered if this was how _remembering_ was supposed to go- one step forward, a half-step back. He took another sip.

Weeks after arriving, after trials and tribulations and a gradual shrinkage of personal space, Phil checked over his own communicator with a pensive frown and ignored it for the millionth time since they had gotten there. He put it away, left the room, and came back to present Techno with a bright red cloak, something that he had apparently been working on during nights he couldn’t sleep, during the scarce moments when he wasn’t in Techno’s sight.

He ran his fingers over the material, soft and plush and _warm_ , and a shock of cold air hit him before he realized it was just his imagination, a faint hint of laughter passing through a time long past.

_“Look, look, Phil! He’s all wrapped up like a little Techno burrito! You only- hah- you only know it’s him by the hair!”_

_“That just means he likes it, Wilbur. Good choice on the color, mate, wasn’t sure what dye I wanted to use.”_

_“I know what goes well with how he looks, I’m not stupid.”_

_“Never said you were, Wil. Oh- you’re awake, Techno? Do you need me to start the fireplace up again? ‘S it too cold for you? Gods, you’re always too cold, even with a blanket, it’s not even properly winter yet…”_

He ran his fingers over the soft surface of the cloak again and again, let one hand comb through the white fluff that bordered it.

This was his.

 _This was his_.

A strum of possessiveness ran over him, all _mine, mine, mine,_ and he clutched it close, gathered it all up and put his face into it. The strong scent of lavender clinging to it, so different from the dried bundles in the wardrobe- tickled at his nose, and he sneezed, but it didn’t stop him from clutching at it all the same. There was something that tried to scratch at the back of his mind, that said _shouldn’t this have something more on it,_ but that was easily ignored in his simple joy.

“Thank you,” he murmured, not looking at Phil, not even daring to see how the man reacted to him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank-”

He was wrapped into a hug, and it made him almost choke, caught up in something far beyond his understanding that was in the forefront of his mind, not pushing Phil away. It made him tremble, made him crack open like an egg upon the living room floor, and he didn’t realize that he was stuck between crying and laughing until the cloak was pulled away from his face to see Phil’s own teary gaze.

They stared at each other- Phil clearly worried for a second before sheer relief floated across his face.

“I’m- I’m glad that you like it,” Phil said, clearly choked up, and gathered him once again into his arms like the wayward child that he so clearly seemed to be.

He was an adult, but he had never felt more like someone small, someone unable to care for themselves, reacting to something so simple as a piece of clothing.

But it wasn’t just clothing, was it? It was a piece of his life that he had just been given back, and his mind had recognized that. It was a piece of the life that seemed so far away, far away enough to him to make it feel like the different parts of him were on two sides of a canyon.

It only made him split further down the middle, losing himself in hysteria.

The next few days, that cloak stayed fastened close, stayed pristine and well cared for. Even when he tended the fields, it weighed lightly on his shoulders, moving with the wind, even as dirt clawed at its bottom half. He washed it, he kept it safe, he kept it clean- and a part of him felt all the more whole for it.

He gathered a fresh bunch of lavender to bundle inside of it during the night, gathered more to place in his wardrobe to replace the old bits so that the rest of his clothes had more than just traces of the same, and tried to ignore exactly why lavender had been so on his mind, lately.

A chuckle at the corner of his hearing: _“You never smell like you’re going into battle, Techno.”_

_“Why make my enemies suspect that the person in front of them will be their doom?”_

_“…But you end up covered in shit anyways!”_

_“So?”_

_“So- why the hell would you do that if it’s all going to be ruined?”_

_“Train with me for a thousand years, Wilbur, and perhaps you will find the answer.”_

_“TECHNO!”_

“I don’t think I’ll ever be the same person that you knew me as,” Techno said one day, out of the blue as the two of them were harvesting a few early-to-harvest potatoes. It was a thought that had crawled over his mind, intrusive and cold, and he had mulled it over for a week, already nearly a month and a half into living there with Phil, everything still so far out of reach.

Phil snorted. “You’ll always be the little gremlin that tried to stab through my boots,” he said fondly, and Techno’s hands spasmed around what he held. “Even if you don’t remember it happening. You’ll always be the kid that got too cold too quick and shivered in early fall, the kid that made me tea whenever I got so much as a cough.”

“I don’t remember,” he said back, a murmur that grew to harsh, biting mutters. “It’s been weeks and I still don’t remember.”

Weeks and weeks and _weeks_.

“You know,” Phil said after a long moment of silence, “Wilbur and Tommy will be knocking on my door soon if I keep telling them half-truths about what’s going on, keep telling them that I’m keeping tabs on Hypixel’s admins as they ‘search’ for you. They’ll knock on my door and come in to question me, and they’ll find their brother.”

“They’ll find a shell,” Techno corrected. Simple. Clean. Accurate.

“They’ll find the brother they love and they’ll drop _everything_ to help you remember, even if they get pissed at me because of what’s happened,” Phil said strongly, dropping his gathered potatoes into a bag and turning to stare Techno down. “And even if you don’t get everything back, you’ll make _new_ memories.”

New memories, indeed, like fishing and farming and going out into the wilderness, watching Phil’s back ever since the _incident_ that still made his skin crawl, picking off one zombie here, a spider there, a skeleton somewhere else. Like picking up a bow under Phil’s careful watch and getting a bullseye first try, breath catching in his throat as he tried to not feel horrified.

Like old movies that Techno had found himself mumbling some of the words to before catching himself. Like hot chocolate and lavender tea and warmed milk with honey, or the novelty that was baked potatoes with extra toppings, with butter and cheese and sour cream and so much _more_.

“What if-”

Techno paused, thought better of what he was going to say, and fell silent.

“What if…what?” Phil nudged him, that careful distance crossed with a gentleness that Techno couldn’t fault him for.

“What if I don’t _want_ them around?”

“…You can’t avoid them forever.”

Techno grunted. That was obvious, especially given how often Phil had talked about them lately.

“…Then I’ll tell them you want to be alone for an hour or two, and they’ll understand. You got overwhelmed before,” Phil said, “and they know how to deal with that. You may be different, but you’re the Techno I know, just like I said. Give me some credit- I know what our brothers are like.”

A ripple of guilt hit him. He didn’t show it, and dumped his own potatoes into the same bag. A paltry gathering, but then again, Phil had so much _more_ than potatoes. (It seemed like Techno gardening had spurred Phil into a gardening craze- he’d had nothing to do with it, but small plots for carrots, wheat, turnips and more had popped up in a little ring around the potatoes. He couldn’t find a reason to resent it. They gave the garden some interest.)

“I love you, Techno,” Phil said, and it came out just as easy as the hundreds of other times he had said it in the past month and a half, smooth as butter in the morning chill.

Techno looked at anywhere but Phil, tried to withdraw like a turtle in a shell of soft red.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he tacked on, and Techno clenched his fists tighter, tighter, helpless to stop the way that his throat tightened in response. “…I know. But. It doesn’t change how I feel.”

 _I’d like to love you too,_ he thought, throat refusing to relax as he stared at the ground. _I’d like to. I really would._

 _I just don’t know myself enough to know enough about you, too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're really into the introspective part, folks. stick around and see...something when the next update appears, i suppose! or join the discord while i cry about sbi or get annoyed about things like 'rona. big vibes, here.
> 
> have a great night! stay safe, wear masks! WEAR THEM-


	6. vi. anger is just love, left out, gone to vinegar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speak of the devils, and they shall appear. Phil's too tired for this. Techno just wants a sandwich.
> 
> (Or: In this world, Pogtopia didn't have a third brother to bolster its efforts, and nobody's exactly having a _good_ time.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "the crow" by dessa]

**[tommyinnit]:** phil any updates  
  
**[tommyinnit]:** it’d be great if you could give us any big guy it’s been over like TWO M ONTHS

 **[phil]:** Sorry, Tommy, things have been a bit hectic.

 **[tommyinnit]:** TELL ME ABOUT IT

 **[phil]:** Has everything been going alright with you and Wil?

 **[tommyinnit]:** WE KEEP FORGETTING TO INSTALL FUCKIGN RAILISNGS IN POGTOPI A

* * *

**[wilbursoot]:** Hey, Phil

**_[read ✓]_ **

**[wilbursoot]:** You answer TOMMY AND NOT ME-

* * *

**[wilbursoot]:** We’re getting worried

 **[phil]:** Don’t be. Was just a bit busy, sorry. Could only take a second to check that earlier after I messaged Tommy. Is everything alright?

 **[wilbursoot]:** Where’s Techno, Phil?

 **[phil]:** Guess I should have expected that.

 **[wilbursoot]:** You’re just not giving us a straight answer and

 **[wilbursoot]:** Fuck

 **[wilbursoot]:** We need him, okay? We need him and where else could he be but farming potatoes or some shit? You checked that part of Hypixel, right? Did you check his apartment in the main city? Anything? Any tournament sightings at ALL? It’s a long shot but

 **[wilbursoot]:** Is Hypixel blocking you? They trained you as a private server admin you have capital P Permissions, right? What the fuck’s going ON

 **[phil]:** I’m getting closer, Wil. Just another week or two. I’m getting closer.

 **[wilbursoot]:** Yeah

 **[wilbursoot]:** Sure

 **[phil]:** I miss him just as much as you two do. Give me some credit.

**_[read ✓]_ **

**[phil]:** Okay. Fine. I’ll get back to searching, then.

* * *

**[wilbursoot]:** I’m grounding you if you don’t stop almost pushing Tubbo off of the stairs

 **[wilbursoot]:** Or he can push you off of them that’s a fitting punishment

 **[tommyinnit]:** Bitch

 **[tommyinnit]:** is it a CRIME to have FUN FOR ONCE

 **[wilbursoot]:** Come on.

 **[tommyinnit]:** ugh it’s fine i get it

 **[tommyinnit]:** wait who were you texting

 **[tommyinnit]:** PHIL?

 **[wilbursoot]:** Yeah what about it

 **[tommyinnit]:** I need a break from Pogtopia let me go and see if he’s even looking for him cmon DONT GUIVE ME T HAT LOOK FROM OTHER THERE I KNOW YOU WANT TO DO IT TOO

 **[wilbursoot]:** I don’t want to leave Pogtopia undefended, Tommy

 **[wilbursoot]:** Or just defended by one person.

 **[tommyinnit]:** if you let me go for a day I PINKY PROMISE to not try and push Tubbo again (evcebn if he DESERVES IT)

 **[wilbursoot]:** I can’t stop you can I

 **[tommyinnit]:** HAHA NOPE

* * *

Almost as if Phil’s musings on his brothers were dark omens, someone knocked on the door a few days after, leaving Techno to slowly come to a stop from where he had been making himself a lazy sandwich. His eyes drifted to the door, where there was another knock- and _Phil wasn’t there_.

Phil was out, he was getting some carrots from the garden, and _oh gods the door was opening_.

Techno darted to the back of the kitchen, rounding into the small space that was the transition between kitchen and dining room. After the door opened, Techno’s heart stalling in his chest, a loud voice echoed through the house-

“PHIL! Big man! Where ARE you? You haven’t been answering any of my messages, again! Come on!”

At the silence that met them, the voice- young, bratty, _loud_ \- called out once again. “Phil, where _are_ you? I know you’re around here, coward! The teleporter woulda’ blocked me if you weren’t!”

His heart beat louder, louder, louder.

Nothing from Phil came back. (Obviously). There was no faint voice from the garden of Phil telling them to wait. There was only the kid’s groan, and their stomping around- down the hallway, opening a door, and slamming it with a groan before they stomped right back towards where Techno was hiding.

“Asshole,” they muttered in the silence. “Won’t even fuckin’ answer me if he’s in here. Won’t check his communicator. We get worried and this is the thanks I get- ooh, is that a sandwich I see, what kind-”

And then the boy- blonde, bright eyes, red and white shirt- stood in front of him, and Techno held his breath, praying to all the things he couldn’t think of that he wouldn’t. Turn. _Around._

“Don’t mind if I do…”

Ah. That was _his_ sandwich getting snapped up, everything he had laid out plopped down before they- he? They?- took a big bite out of it. The boy- _Tommy,_ his mind whispered gleefully, _Tommy Tommy Tommy_ \- hummed, clearly pleased despite his annoyance at Phil’s absence, and turned to go through the dining room to the living room-

-and ran straight into Techno, where he bumped into him with a yelp and stumbled back, more focused on the sandwich for a split second. “Phil! Don’t fucking prank me like- like…that…”

Their eyes met- Techno’s wide, dark eyes. Tommy’s shocked gaze.

They stared at each other for a long stretch of time. Neither moved- Techno was frozen in time, the only sign of life being his hands as they started to tremble. Tommy stared up at him as if he had seen a ghost.

(Perhaps he _had_ seen a ghost, huh?)

“ _Techno?_ ”

“This isn’t- what it looks like,” he managed to wheeze out, and immediately got an armful of _loud child_ for his troubles. He didn’t know him, didn’t know the proper response, the unspoken rules to interaction. Techno just stayed as still as a board, heart beating in frantic half-steps, and tried to act like a part of the scenery. _I’m just a pillar, I’m just a pillar, I’m…_

“You _asshole!_ Why haven’t you told us where you’ve been?” Tommy sounded _pissed_. Fuming. Techno gulped and opened his mouth to answer, but got talked right over by this- by this child, this person that something deep in him delighted in seeing but the rest of him could only be terrified of. “We were WORRIED about you, and you didn’t answer anything from us for- for- for months! And you still haven’t told us you were at Phil’s!”

Tommy paused. “…. _Phil_ hasn’t even told us you were here, what the _fuck_ , we could have used your help and- and how long’s it been since he started searching? Two and a half months? _Fuck!_ ”

No, no, no, Tommy wasn’t allowed to tear up, his heart said, even as his mind screamed _get away run away find Phil run run run_. Techno’s hands flailed midair, but got nowhere in his attempts to do…whatever his subconscious had been trying to get him to do.

“You’re really the worst, Techno, y-you’re…Techno?”

In his failed attempt to calm the boy, Techno had just frozen up even further. Tommy peered up at him…and obviously was alarmed by what he saw. “Techno, what’s going- what’s going on? Is everything alright? Did something happen? Do I need to- to beat someone up?”

_No. No, everything isn’t alright, because you’re here and asking all the questions I don’t want to answer._

“You’re not strong enough to fight my battles for me, kid,” some part of him said out loud, right on some damned, hellish autopilot, and that seemed to kick Tommy right from sadness and over into anger, hands reaching out to grab at his shirt and grip it tight.

_“You listen here, big guy-”_

“Techno!”

Oh. Okay. This was happening now.

“Got some carrots here, you wanted them, ri- …..right?”

Techno turned his head to see Phil, turned to see his jaw dropped as he stared at the two of them. He didn’t know how they looked, Tommy’s fists clenching the front of his shirt, his own blank face and Tommy’s almost-tears, but it drew the encounter to a stuttering standstill.

“…Tommy,” Phil said, setting the basket of carrots he had down gingerly on the counter. “…I see you’ve, uh…seen Techno?”

“You _hid him from us_ ,” Tommy said, flat and frigid, withdrawing his hands and letting them ball into fists at his sides. “Phil, you hid him from us- we need all the help we can get, over in Dream’s world, over in Pogtopia, and you _hide him?_ ” He snorted. “Come on, Techno, we need your help, go get your axe-”

Phil’s hand clamped around Tommy’s wrist. The boy stopped his jagged movements to tilt his head up to him. He looked back at Techno, and blinked slowly at Techno’s frozen figure.

“Techno,” Phil said softly, an unbending _strength_ behind his words, “is not going anywhere.”

“And why the fuck not, huh, Phil?”

“Because-”

“Because,” Techno said slowly, the force of an incoming disaster bolstering him into speaking with jagged, half-formed sentences, “I was…trapped on my island…apparently bugged-”

“ _Definitely_ bugged, I talked with the Hypixel admins, even Simon, and you know how hard it is to get a hold of him-”

“-and,” Techno continued on, finally finding his stride, “farmed potatoes for an unknown amount of time while I, uh. Forgot almost everything about my life.” His life? Someone else’s life? Tommy had been in that memory, he knew. Had been in other faint memories.

It was still someone else’s life that he was remembering.

“Bullshit,” Tommy said, and then, louder: “That’s _bullshit!_ You can’t just- you can’t…”

“Tommy. _Tommy_ , _Techno didn’t even know who I was when I found him._ ”

Silence.

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m just trying to get Techno to remember bits and pieces,” Phil told him, and Techno looked away when he identified the clear strain in his voice. “He’s not fit to go anywhere, Tommy, and especially not fit to go into whatever mess you and Wil got yourselves into.”

“But…Pogtopia…”

_“Your brother is more important than your damn resistance, Tommy!”_

He shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t right. They were referencing things that went over his head, details that even he didn’t want to think of- all he wanted to do now was ignore the fact that he was hungry and just…go out. Check on the potatoes. Check for monsters, maybe tell Phil if he saw any that were bold enough to lurk at the edge of the forest’s shadow in daylight.

“I’ll just-”

They both turned to him with a terrifying intensity in their eyes.

“I’ll just- be going,” Techno choked out, and was gone through the back door before Phil could so much as reach out.

Silence reigned in his wake as he stood right outside the entrance, trying to calm his breathing, listening to the last snippets of conversation that he could stand before he actually went to farm potatoes.

“Phil-”

“I read your messages, you know? What good would it be to send him out to fight? Yes, he’s good, but right now-”

Techno started to walk away. He refused to listen to them talk about before.

“-remember when he was in those tournaments-”

“-not now, not _ever,_ as far as I’m concerned-”

“-but he’s the Blood God-”

That was too much for today. Off to potatoes he went.

Come to think of it, he had never actually gotten anything to eat, had he?

…No, he wasn’t going to try braving the house again for a while yet, not while the stranger- his younger brother- while Tommy was still there.

Maybe he could improve the little path he had marked through the garden. That’d be nice.

* * *

“Me and Wilbur are _still_ trying to build back up! We have Tubbo, but nobody else is on our side, even Tubbo’s not publicly on our side, what L’manburg once was is being fucking- _ruined-_ ”

“Leave it. _Go._ You’re either going to sit your ass back in Dream’s server or go and get Wilbur and bring him back here, and I hope to everything that you know the right choice here.”

“Phil…”

“You lost. Leave it and _come home._ Your brother- your _brothers_ \- need you two.”

* * *

When Tommy left, a hurricane of emotions sweeping across the land in his wake, Techno could only feel relief. Even with that storm in his mind, things felt quieter before- even if he hadn’t heard whatever discussion they were having, even if the only things he heard besides nature in the past hour were Tommy’s sudden slamming of the front door, cursing up a storm as he left.

“He’s. Sure something,” Techno managed to get out when Phil finally approached him, only those words leaving his mouth before it clicked shut and refused to open again, no matter how many dry observations he had about the kid. Phil’s answering laugh was devoid of true amusement, but he shrugged and gestured for Techno to follow- and follow he did, biting at his lip and trying to ignore the ache of hunger in his stomach.

“He’s Tommy,” Phil said, mild even over the tired anger he exuded, love for Tommy still present in his sigh. “…You were having a sandwich, right?”

Techno gestured in the direction of where Tommy had left, as if it were all that needed to be communicated.

“…And he took it. Alright. I’ll clean these, you can make another sandwich…and how about spending the day inside? Seems like it’s a cloudy day…no rain, so it’s not good for fishing, and everything’s already set up with your potatoes, it seems, yeah?”

Techno…looked down at his dirtied hands. Clenched them to watch as his vision tried to layer on red where only dirt laid. Slowly unclenched them and watched what he saw turn back to regular dirt. He gave one slow nod before moving, drifting off into the kitchen to wash his hands with the mindlessness of someone lost in thought. Next to him, Phil busied himself with washing off carrots and beginning to slice some up into thin strips.

Tommy had wanted help with something- with a _revolution_ , Phil had mentioned. What would have happened if Techno had gone with him? Would he have cut people, instead of monsters, down? Would he have proper blood on his hands?

Did he already have blood on his hands?

He decided not to dwell on the thought- on any thoughts at all, actually. Phil seemed to be in the same mindset, and so they both let themselves quietly move about, making their own lunches after they finished cleaning up, a song and dance that felt _old_ , that felt like _routine._

Techno couldn’t bring himself to care.

They sat across from each other at the cozy little dining table. Techno focused on his food, on the sandwich that he had reconstructed, the other long gone with Tommy out and away.

Mm. It really _was_ good. The carrots were, too, which was pleasant, if not anything approaching surprising- Phil had taken good care of them. Slowly but surely, though, Techno was branching out on food options that he would eat.

His fingers drummed against the table, idle and fidgety. _Tap, tap, tap_. His mind was trying to go somewhere, but he couldn’t quite follow its confusing path, so he kept going through long patches of blankness before he caught a glimpse of a grin, an echo of a laugh.

The sandwich was gone before he knew it.

“I’ll put on a movie,” Phil murmured, and even though it was the middle of the day (and not the evening, the time when Phil seemed to prefer movies be shown at- was there some etiquette to it? Movies were growing more familiar, but he didn’t get that part of it, not when all it took to watch something was to fiddle around with the enigma that was the television system), Techno silently curled up on the couch to watch alongside him.

If he slowly fell asleep to the droning of someone’s voice and the sounds of mystery and intrigue, well, only Phil was there to see it.

It felt like he’d need the rest, if Tommy were to return. He was _far_ too loud for him to even think of regularly handling.

* * *

“Wilbur! _Wilbur!_ ”

“What? I’m _working_ on something-”

“Phil found Techno.”

“…What? Where is he? Did you bring him? This could be _just_ what we need-”

“Wilbur, he- he needs us there. Something’s happened. Something bad. He…I…I love L’manburg, I really do, but. He _needs_ us.”

The screech of a chair. The clenching of hands on its back.

“What the fuck happened to him.”

“I’m leaving. With or- or without you. Phil gave me a choice, and I’m choosing the only right answer. Just…come with me, please? Techno…Phil…they need you. They need us. Please. I can explain on the way. _Now._ ”

“…”

“Wil-”

“Let me grab my things. …At least _Schlatt_ can take care of our former nation while we’re gone.”

When Dream descended upon Pogtopia, gifts and promises ready on his lips, he found only an abandoned ravine for his troubles.

* * *

It was with a lethargic groan that Techno stretched and opened his eyes, finding his gaze set on the living room ceiling. There was something that scratched at his mind, but it was hard to recognize until what he was sensing fully processed- voices, low and quiet, over by the front door.

_Strangers._

“Quiet, boys. Techno’s sleeping. I think he might have stayed up all last night, just…let him sleep. I’ll explain it all, okay? Just…come over here. To Tommy’s room. It might be a bit dusty, yes, but it’s the furthest away, and he’s still a light sleeper.”

Techno let his body relax once more after the words processed in his mind as _Phil,_ and before he could actually think about what he had said, Techno was back asleep, deep in the realm of sleep. Ah, blissful sleep.

He didn’t wake until the early afternoon to see two near-strangers- Tommy and the other person he had seen in pictures around the house- staring owlishly at him.

Somehow, it was hard to think that he’d like this at all.

* * *

The presence of two new people in the house, people that Techno knew by name but didn’t _know_ , left him crackling with unreleased tension, jumpy and irritable. By that night’s dinner, the first one they all had together- at least in Techno’s eyes- there was a deep scowl on his face, and he skipped it all just to stay in the garden. He hid away by the simple merit of sitting next to a bush and staying in the darkest bit of shadow.

( _All warfare is based on deception._ They’d never see him there. Wait, what was that from?)

They were fine. It was _fine._ It was just Techno that was messing it all up, wanting to snap and bristle and lash out whenever they talked, whenever they tried to push something or mention things he didn’t know.

In the matter of a few hours, they had gotten him to respond automatically to certain phrases and actions, say things he had no idea about, no clue where they originated from, and it only drove him up the _wall_ to think about the fact. He wanted to farm, he wanted to sneak into the forest and mindlessly keep a lookout for monsters- but instead of all that, instead of lingering in the garden for even longer and have one of those two nightmares find him…

Well, it was Phil who found him. Not those two. The aftermath still ended up similar to how he had expected it- Phil fretting over him, bringing him inside, and the other two hovering around and speaking constantly.

There was no escape.

The second day, one of them always trailed him. The worst part was that, in some ways, they were nice. Kind. Brotherly. Tommy still spoke with an intensity, though, that made Techno shrink away, nudging at him and egging him on as if he was with the Techno of a few months or years or whatever ago.

Fond insults were not the way to get into his heart. Not at the moment, at least.

Wilbur referenced things even more blatantly than Phil had tried to do. Had gone on and said things that required a voice to meet them, and a creature within him had echoed the expected reply to find a grin full of teeth and a congratulations on remembering something.

What was there to remember besides a line without any context? A shard of time that had no connecting pieces? The words always died in his mouth, though, as Wilbur merrily continued on the conversation, the wry, chill foil to Tommy’s blazing fire.

What was there to remember besides the static-crackle backing to a song that he could only clearly hear one instrument of?

“He’s remembering,” he heard Wilbur gleefully say to Phil behind his back, far enough away that Techno thought, perhaps, that they didn’t think he could hear them. “Even those stupid Tzu-whatever quotes! Maybe it was just us, huh?”

Techno’s shoulders drew themselves into a line that had only truly been matched at his first encounter with Philza on his island.

He could feel his scars acting up, but he couldn’t figure out if it was because there was light rain on the horizon or if it was because of stress. Either way, he looked at himself in the mirror after showering one night and just stood there, drinking in the way that he could see each and every scar that was paining him.

Right there, from his collarbone and dragging itself down deep. A length over, where a particularly large wound spread out in its domain across his side. His knee, which wasn’t noticable, per se, but ached like no tomorrow when he woke, when he was tired, when storms threatened to approach.

Techno was so tired of this. Of them, of his wounds, of sentences that jumbled around in his head and didn’t even get anything attached to them, not like the carefully drawn out memories that Phil tried hard to slowly free.

He hated them. (He hated what they were doing.)

He wanted them _gone_.

On the third, on the fourth day- he got to his own little breaking point. Techno snapped and snarled even more than he had at Phil, gave short responses to both Tommy and Wilbur, burrowing into his cloak and glaring at them with an intensity that seemed to finally, finally give them pause.

They had the audacity to ask him why he was so- why he was so _standoffish_.

“Why? _Why?_ ” When the line had finally been crossed, he laughed. He laughed and laughed and _laughed_ and ignored the way that Phil, barely within the range of hearing for it, glanced over with alarm. Ignored the way that both Tommy and Wilbur, who had cornered him, sported wide eyes and shocked looks.

“You’re- you’re forcing me to say things and you don’t know why I hate it? I barely remember you- you two! I barely know you! I barely know Phil and I’ve been here for over a month! Almost two!”

Neither of them stopped him. Maybe it was because those were the most words they had heard him say outside of the lines they had teased out since they arrived. Maybe it was because his tone was that of a cornered animal.

Who could know for sure?

“You’ve been here for two, _two_ days and you’re making me do things I don’t want to do! I can’t get any space! There’s no fucking room! How can I breathe with you two over my shoulder?”

“Techno-”

“Don’t ‘Techno’ me,” he breathed, turning a furious gaze on Tommy. On Wilbur. “Don’t ‘Techno’ me. I don’t know you. Don’t even try to act like I know- know you.”

They were in memories that he had fished up from the ether. They were not in _his_ memories, though, and that was what mattered.

“Just go away! Go away and I’ll talk to Phil and- and-"

“Techno.”

He flinched. Let his gaze sweep from the two ‘brothers’ and over to where Phil stood behind them, looking as if the ground had dropped from under his feet.

“Boys.”

Techno shut his mouth, ignored the ways that he was still trembling, the way that his fists clenched tight, ignored the low sound coming out of his mouth, all anger and fear and frustration.

“Techno,” Phil repeated, soft as if he hadn’t cut through the tension with a blade two seconds ago, “I need to talk with these two. Would you mind heading away for a bit? You’re not in trouble. I think I’ve just been misled about what exactly they’ve been doing with you, huh?”

He could see Tommy and Wilbur gulp.

He fled the scene without so much as a glance back.

"We need to talk," he could hear Phil say, _danger_ in his voice. " _Again._ "

* * *

Techno carefully climbed onto the roof, scaling it half by muscle memory and half by merit of the way that the building lent itself to climbing. _Maybe it had been built to be climbed onto and sat on. Huh._

They were nice people. They were _too_ nice, even as they showed that they weren’t just…being nice. Tommy was a mouthy child, Wilbur cracking bad jokes and always…strumming the guitar he had picked up the second he got there. They were both too focused on him.

(It wasn’t as if they were on some kind of crusade to get him on a fast-track to remembering, no. Not at all. That would be silly. That would be silly, yes it would, and Techno totally was fine with seeing them and living alongside them. Sure.

Hah.)

How hard was peace and quiet to get?

It was dark when Phil sat down beside him, quiet and tired-eyed startling the man and making him reach for a weapon that wasn’t there. (Why? Why had he done that? He remembered some, but- that wasn’t him. It _wasn’t._ )

“I’m sorry,” Phil murmured, quiet enough that it didn’t carry down. “I didn’t…didn’t know what they had been doing to you. I was just…I _am_ just…glad to have everyone home for once, you know?” His smile was crooked. “I’ve been alone for the most part for a while. The gang’s all back together for once, I thought they were just…catching you up. Not trying to solve _problems._ ”

That last word sat in the air, marinating in Phil’s bitter tone. Intense. Quiet. _Unnerving_.

Techno didn’t grant it a response. He just pulled his legs closer to his chest and closed his eyes, leaning his head on his knees.

“I’ll make sure they give you space.” Phil wrapped an arm around him, slow and ready for Techno to pull away, and rather than stiffen, Techno just sighed and leaned into it. Personal space? Right now, that was a myth. He’d rather have the warm arm around him in the nightly chill, even with the cloak around him, no matter the fact that he had just been trying to escape the other two. Phil was safe. They weren’t. “They’re just worried like I was. They haven’t fully processed just how much you…don’t know. And how you haven’t, uh, appreciated them- or me- trying to…force memories out of you.”

Techno tilted his head to open his eyes and look up at Phil before he flicked his eyes over in the direction of the forest. Phil- Phil _laughed,_ the bells of his voice chiming whisper-quiet as to not get them found.

“I deserved that punch, by the way,” he said, and squeezed Techno once more before letting go.

He chased that warmth- and then pulled away, a pang in his chest. He liked Phil. He _wanted_ to like Phil.

His _past_ self was the one that liked Phil. Techno’s current self just…he just wanted the warmth. Right.

(There had been something in Phil’s voice, earlier. Something that was dark and bothered towards Wilbur and Tommy, something that he was trying so, so hard not to think about. He failed.)

“Let’s get you back down without them noticing, eh? We can go through the trapdoor to the little attic, right over here, I’ll help you down, you look exhausted…”

* * *

When Tommy and Wilbur finally came close to Phil again, they found a sleeping Techno sprawled out on his bed and Phil walking out of the room, closing the door behind him. He turned to look at Wilbur and Tommy, eyes flashing with exhausted remnants of anger. 

The two stilled before their older brother’s squared-off frame.

“ _Please_ remember what we talked about,” Phil sighed. “You two are better than this.”

(Stars above, he was tired.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it starting to get juicy, or is this the beginning of the end? that's for you to decide. hope you liked the slight break from format! it won't come up too much from now on, but i felt like this chapter needed a little bit of spice.
> 
> shoutouts to roman numerals.


	7. vii. the water's rising (quicker than light and sound)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes. Potatoes grow. Sometimes, there's only so much you can do before your comfort becomes a vice.
> 
> (Or: When your life's going pretty well, there's always a bump along that road to stop that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "notus" by the oh hellos]

Almost as if by a miracle, whatever talk Phil had with Wilbur and Tommy, they got a hell of a lot more tolerable in the days after Techno’s outburst.

When they weren’t constantly all over him, Techno found that he liked Wilbur and Tommy, strangely enough- although he wasn’t sure it was like as in ‘they’re good people, and funny, and nice’ or an ‘I’d kill someone if they hurt these two, and they’d never find their remains’ kind of like. It could also be something inside of him tricking him into thinking those thoughts, so. It was something to ponder some other day.

They spoke not of their personal past with him, but spun tales of a different server, of revolution and wars and carefully- but blatantly- avoided what had to be a vast ravine of actual details and facts beyond _hey, we won this nation a while back._ Techno reeled in his line, released a fish, and sent the hook back out again into the waters as they softly chattered at him.

They weren’t demanding responses, weren’t spouting out lines that false-him answered like clockwork. That, more than anything else, made him comfortable- although he wouldn’t consider them close. Not nearly as close as Phil had gotten, at least.

Tommy asked him about his potatoes, a week into their stay, and _didn’t leave_ as Techno showed him the different bits of his part of the garden, didn’t leave as Techno slowly explained the differences between the varieties of potato in his own halting speech. Instead, Tommy just asked questions upon questions upon _questions_ and didn’t mind if Techno barely bothered to answer many of them, didn’t mind being motioned to get his hands dirty and help expand the ever-growing garden with a new variety if he wanted to be allowed to run his mouth.

Wilbur brought that familiar guitar with him wherever he went, but it seemed as if he had gone from playing songs that he thought Techno would know and instead started…composing, peppering the background of whatever Techno was doing with plucked strings, with hums and murmurs and occasional breakthroughs- well, just as often as he cursed to himself.

“They’re for my new album,” he explained to Techno when he gave a flat look at one of Wilbur’s cheers of a breakthrough, smiling widely up at Techno from where he sat on the ground. “Gotta get some more stuff out for the fans, you know? Get that clout, get that social capital. Not like it’ll make tons of revenue- not like I need a ton- but still.”

Techno grunted and hoped that his blank face conveyed his faint interest. Wilbur’s smile said he succeeded in…accurately conveying his emotions.

“Want me to play you what I have so far?” He strummed once and winked. “It’s not much, but…”

And so a musician joined the background noise, most often while he ran through menial tasks, as he worked and fished and grew more and more used to the fact that there were actually fish that would bite on the line.

Memories purred against him, gentler now that he wasn’t being forced into remembering. Sure, they were half-recollections, brief flashes of events- of Wilbur showing him one of his earliest songs, of Tommy doggedly following him wherever he went after Phil picked the kid up, of Phil comforting him in the dead of night after he snapped at one of the others, holding tea, holding hot chocolate, holding warmth in the shape of his hands.

They paralleled reality in a way that was almost too close to accept.

Was this what it was like to have a family?

Was this what it felt like to truly be in a home, instead of the way that he sunk into farming back on his own world? His- his (former?) home?

…It was nice, even if they weren’t _his_ family.

* * *

For a time, his potato farm- his potato garden- was almost like an afterthought. A small routine that wasn’t his whole day. It was a nice…hobby? A nice hobby.

The reach of the island, though, could not be escaped so easily. Techno fell asleep one night to a soft-bed (too-soft, his mind still hissed, the reason why he woke up on the floor half the time) and awoke to dirt beneath his bare feet, a cloak heavier than the world around his shoulders and mind full of one thing: farming potatoes.

The moon was lowering inch by inch, but as he looked down at the tools in his hands, at the garden around him, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were right back in the middle of a vast field, back to the days where he farmed without end, an out of body experience that could not be stopped.

Time blurred. The sun started to rise. Techno busied himself with harvesting all the potatoes that were ready and planting new ones before he checked on his maintenance, weeding and making sure the plants were watered, growing, _happy_.

Somewhere in that time, he had taken off the cloak (no, no, put it back on put it back on mine _this is mine stop-_ ) and put it at the edge of the field. The chill of the air, now biting as early fall started to pass by, nipped at his skin, sunk down to his core to curl up and stay there.

His mind couldn’t focus, not truly. A part of it was on the potatoes, but the rest was almost as if it were full of static, unable to think, unable to feel, swept up in a tide that would not let him get a breath of air.

Techno lost himself in the haze’s embrace. When he heard a shout, when something touched him, grasping at his shoulder, he just pulled away and meandered over to check on some of the newer potatoes, the variety that needed just a bit more care and attention than normal.

Everything was fine. He reached for the watering can, mind cast away.

Hands grasped at him, tried to stop him. At some point, it got annoying enough for Techno’s body to grunt and pull away, push at the blur in the corner of his sight, the figure in front of him, whatever was behind.

It made him _angry,_ that something was trying to stop him. Angry enough through that intense apathy that his body responded.

So he tried to stop whatever was in his path- he let that rage fill him, let it seep out through his skin and make his muscles tense, and before he knew it something was under him, his frame (still too lean, still too light, but it farmed well, considering he just cared for potatoes) still able to keep it down through its struggling.

He growled and tried to stop it, end it for _good_ -

Searing pain across his shoulder made Techno stagger back to reality, hyperfocusing on what was in front of him- Tommy, eyes wide and scared like an animal of prey, body shaking like a leaf in the wind. He smelled the tang of blood- his own, he noted idly- dripping from a slash to his arm. Heard his own instinctive yelp fade away, heard the sound of Tommy’s breathing and Wilbur’s yelling- heard, more than anything, Phil’s terrifying silence.

He blinked. Turned his head, all nice and slow, to see his older brother with eyes of obsidian melt into relieved tears. Saw the blade in his hand, blood thin and flecked along its edge.

“You cut me,” Techno heard himself breathe before everything became too much, too _much,_ every sound rattling through his head and making him clutch at it with curled fingers. The pain, the slash on his shoulder screamed with the power of a lightning bolt, the smell of his blood overpowering everything else (even the lavender, even the lavender that still tried to cloak him in calm). “You hurt me.”

“I- I _had_ to, you were about to hurt Tommy, you were- it was like when you were young, when you were, were- _feral_ -”

Techno felt himself rip apart, putting his hands firmly over his ears as he staggered away from Tommy and shook, shook, shook. “Go away,” he whispered, staring into nothing, staring straight at the ground, at the sky beyond it, at the void that didn’t exist. “Go away,” he yelled soon after, and spasmed as arms wrapped around him, their owner clearly ignoring the blood that seeped out of his wound. “Go away, go away, _go away_ -”

“I’m not leaving you when you’re like this, Techno,” Tommy’s voice declared, wavering and terrified and yet so strong. _So_ strong. “You _need_ us here, big man.”

“Get _off of me,_ ” he growled, an unnatural harshness lurking beneath every damned syllable, but there was nothing to be done. He folded down and sobbed into his knees as he sat there, right in the middle of his now-messy potato field, and broke into pieces that could, perhaps, be as fine as glitter in the wind.

Tommy clung tighter.

“We love you, Techno,” he declared through the tornado that was his thoughts, “and we’ll be right beside you for whatever you need! No matter what!”

He cried harder, Tommy’s words barely processing to him, and watched through clouded eyes as half of the hard work everyone had put into healing, into trying to take his reliance on potatoes away went down the drain, blood seeping down his arm, down his shoulder, staining his grey shirt dark.

Techno didn’t flinch as a healing potion was applied across his arm. His eyes closed as the world shook. He didn’t fight as Tommy and Wilbur worked together to get him to stand up and then stumble over to the house, into the bathroom, and let Phil take over to wash off the blood, properly clean the half-patched wound.

What was there to be done? He had taken two steps forward and ten steps back. He relished in the sting that kept him grounded to the world.

“I’m sorry,” Phil murmured over and over, and as Techno let his head rest against Phil, he thought back: _It’s fine, I forgive you, I forgive you._

Bits and pieces filtered in through the mess, as Phil examined the slash across his shoulder and slightly down his arm, as a second layer of potions were applied and a bandage was carefully wrapped around his frame.

Techno was helpless to stop his trembling mind from opening doors that he’d rather stay mostly closed.

* * *

“Techno.”

“Not my fault he went and got himself hurt by a skeleton,” Techno muttered, sharpening his axe with a practiced ease right on the house’s front steps. “Nerd should’a listened to me. He didn’t.”

“You know better than that,” Phil scolded, and Techno tried his best to not wilt under the disappointed words. “Both you and Wilbur. One of you should have watched over him- the forest at night, really? Even I’d prefer you to bring someone along when you’re out there, even if you can handle yourself! It’s bad enough how often you go out alone!”

“ _You_ don’t always go with someone,” he pointed out, voice flat just as it always was, flat and mild and only accented with the raise of an eyebrow. Phil snorted.

“That’s because I’m the oldest- I know you were practically born fighting, but still, Techno-”

* * *

“That’s mine now, kiddo.”

“Hey!” Tommy scowled as Techno held a sandwich over his head, looking from the sandwich to Techno’s perfect poker face. “That’s mine, you asshole- you know I can’t reach that-”

“I know,” he intoned gravely, and waved it about as Wilbur, eating his own food at the table, saw them and laughed.

They danced around, Techno’s relatively short frame still taller than Tommy at this age, and he found a small smile on his face as the atmosphere settled on him, as he moved just before Tommy could get his cape in his grasp, the kid growling almost like _he_ did when he was angry.

Wilbur opened his mouth to speak, still laughing-

* * *

“Is there a reason you don’t want to speak right now, Techno?”

He made a grunt, curling up further in the depths of his wardrobe, letting his cloak curl around his tiny body. Phil, crouching outside, snorted softly.

“Just not a talker, huh? I think I should have expected it, with you being so quiet, talkin’ like the piglins…but Wil doesn’t get that, okay? You have’ta give him some slack. He’s used to talking and talking and talking and getting a whole conversation out of me, out of everyone when we visit some of the bigger servers or travel to this place’s biggest village…don’t just try and attack when he wants to get you to talk, okay?”

A grunt.

“Don’t give me that, kiddo.”

Another.

“Oh, now you’re just _teasing_ me! You little-”

* * *

“This is Wilbur,” Phil said softly, squeezing Techno’s hand all light-like and letting him go a second later. “He lives with me, okay? Just like you’re going to.”

“You look weird,” Wilbur declared loudly, tone mean and harsh, and everything promptly went straight to hell.

Even if he didn’t understand every word- or most of the words- tone could never be mistaken.

Techno lunged forwards, snarling and snapping with rough syllables and small little tusks gleaming in the light, Phil yelping when Techno ripped out of his hold, and Wilbur _screamed_ -

He launched a fist towards Wilbur’s face, and Phil caught him just in time, and oh, gods, that _look_ on his face, he was going to get killed and he still didn’t totally know who these people were and maybe they were even more bloodthirsty than the creatures he had lived around for the rest of his life-

* * *

Heat lingered around him like an old friend. Once, he had been in this portal’s light with desperation ringing counterpoint to his gasping. Once, he had thrown away all he knew to become something more.

He considered the little cave. Considered the small sword in his hands, child-sized and rough.

He stepped back through the portal.

Some things were better left to wait.

* * *

Techno opened his eyes, and Phil smiled tiredly back at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that kind of way that meant he was truly pleased that Techno was aware of his surroundings. How Techno knew that, he had no idea- but it was good to see. A comfort.

“Do you mind,” Phil said thoughtfully, “if we lock up the things you need to work on the garden during the night? Put them in my room, or something? I’m a light sleeper, so…we could stop stuff like that before it begins.”

_Stuff like that._

Techno knew what he was talking about. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

He grimaced and sighed, looking down at himself- shirtless, bandaged shoulder and arm, a soft towel wrapped around his shoulders. Phil awkwardly gave a pat to his other shoulder.

 _No,_ he nearly said, _I’d kill you before you ever got the chance to stop me from picking up my tools-_ and then the more rational part of his brain said _hello, hello, that sounds like a good thing to do, Phil’s idea is great, he’d actually stop anything from happening, good-_ and Techno gave a hesitant, minute nod.

“Good. Good, good, good.” He paused. “Now, I…have you been, just…spacing out? Is something going on in that brain of yours? You act… _different,_ sometimes, and usually it’s when you’re left alone for a long time or just not…paying attention. It’s not bad, I don’t think. But you look unsettled afterwards.” A wince. “You look unsettled _now._ ”

He nodded again, this time more confidently. Phil grimaced.

“I know you like your alone time, but…I’ll make sure one of us checks on you often. Not bothering you, just…checking up on you so you don’t farm yourself into an early grave.”

Techno closed his eyes again.

“What was that just now, by the way? You just…blanked out after you stopped panicking. Tommy was so _scared_ , Techno. I made sure he went to go do something- check on those bees he found the other day, he says he’s picked up some tricks on taking care of them by his friend- but he’s worried. I’m worried. We’re _all_ worried,” he finally amended. “Just…you didn’t acknowledge us, really, didn’t push us away to focus on your task, you know? You just. Let yourself get pushed around this time and kept going.”

Silence. Phil wrapped an arm around him. They sat there for a minute, two, three.

“Rememberin’”, he muttered into the quiet.

“Huh?”

Techno waved an arm vaguely. “Happened when I was…fightin’ those spiders that time, although my body…” He hummed. “Muscle memory. Remembering some stuff better than just…vague recollections.”

“Oh. Oh. So what-”

“I was small enough to sit inside the wardrobe comfortably after you found me,” he said with a wry undertone. Phil’s arm tightened the slightest fraction around his shoulders. “Don’t really…understand it. Just bits ‘n pieces. Training Tommy, once.” He sighed. “Tell ya’…later.”

“You hid in that wardrobe a lot,” Phil said, and it was almost as if they were back to those days where Phil kept telling Techno about everything he had done, almost like when he had stretched Techno thin and kept him teetering on the edge of blowing up. This time- it helped. It was odd. “Wilbur was pushy, as a kid, even if he wasn’t as…ear-shattering as Tommy was. _Is._ ”

That made Techno give a bit of a chuckle, and he could just _tell_ that Phil was smiling text to him at the lightened mood. “That’s enough for you to get it, eh?” Phil nudged him. If he strained his hearing, he could hear Wilbur singing something soft. It was good. Nice. “He was still figuring out how to talk to you, how to treat you when you didn’t exactly get all of what he said…and kept saying he’d beat you in a fight.”

Hm. That sounded like a bad idea for Wilbur to have done. Even if Techno had been shorter than Wilbur then- which he was sure he was, considering he was still shorter now, only a few inches above a growing Tommy- if he had been as good at fighting from what Phil seemed to imply-

“You got him every time,” Phil said fondly. “ _Hilarious_ to watch.”

“I’m…sure.”

Techno let himself trail off to a soft sigh. The arm around him was warm- warm with body heat, warm with emotions, warm with _kindness_. If anyone tried to make him admit that he was melting at the half-hug, he’d have to kill them, but nobody was asking. Thankfully.

A growl rippled through the bathroom. It took Techno a second to realize that it was, in fact, his stomach.

“Come on,” Phil said, withdrawing his arm so that he could clap his hands together softly. “I think we all need some food. Let’s see what we have in the kitchen…”

If Techno had been allowed to sit there forever, for that snapshot in time in the timeless expanse of morning, he would have. Instead, he tilted his head back, let himself exhale through his nose, and let Phil pull him up by his good arm. The other burned.

No going at potato farming as intensely as he had done before, it seemed. His body seemed determined to snap himself out of any nice blankness with a wound that hissed at him like _that._

He found himself grateful for it, for the bandages and Phil’s panicked decision-making, even if his body, one scar richer, grumbled at him for it. He fished through his wardrobe for a simple top, pressed his nose into one to smell the lavender he and Phil had packed into little bags to scent the cloth, and breathed out slowly, ignoring any of the pain.

Maybe that scar, that reminder of the day, the shock to his system- maybe it would help him collect those lost pieces of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know, this whole story was supposed to be a oneshot.
> 
> hope everyone's doing good!


	8. viii. nobody fears the height; you all just fear the fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you've forgotten a good chunk of your life, true danger doesn't exactly register when you find it. Tommy worries about a friend. Techno looks at some scars.
> 
> (Or: No matter the world, its creatures slowly change, given enough time. It's not always common knowledge.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "the crow" by dessa]

“So, you know Tubbo, right?”

Techno, sprawled out across the couch, arm over his eyes, hummed vaguely at Tommy.

“So he’s in Dream’s server, the one we left, he’s- he’s…pretty worried about us. But he understood that it was a family thing, you know? Sure, he’s the only one to check up on Pogtopia, but it’s fine. He, uh…he keeps bees.”

Interesting.

Techno didn’t so much as move his arm off of his face. All he did was listen.

“And I’ve been messaging him, yeah, ever since I found a few bee nests around- the ones out back-”

Ah. He knew those. Friendly little things, although Phil had actually squawked when he encountered Techno examining them, bees crawling over him as if they thought he was a friend. Apparently Tommy had to wear some kind of outfit that he had thrown together of old clothes to interact with them? Silly.

Instead of talking about it and throwing him a tease that would feel awkward in his mouth, he just hummed again.

“It’s just helped a lot! But…he’s acting weird, Techno. He’s been acting weird ever since I left, and I just- I just don’t get it!” He could hear Tommy pacing, could imagine him running his hands through his hair, irritated beyond belief. “I’ve known him for a while, ever since Phil let me out of his sight for once, before Dream’s sever even started- but he’s been acting weird.”

How curious. Why was Tommy talking to him about it, exactly, and not Phil? Wilbur? Techno didn’t even have the context about Tubbo from before he had gone off and promptly forgotten his whole life.

“Hey! You’re just as good as them to talk about it to, and your fucking- amnesia- will go away at some point anyways and does it really matter?”

Ah. He had mumbled that out loud. At a loss, he hummed.

“You guys know all about- friendship and shit! How to talk to people.”

What the actual fuck. He was the absolute worst candidate for Tommy to choose.

“So I don’t know if his boss, Schlatt, is being weird or if he thinks we’re keeping something from him that’s more important than personal shit? I don’t know if Tubbo fucking trusts me! And usually I know that he trusts me! He just…back in the server, when we had to leave to come here, he didn’t…I…he didn’t message me a lot. At first.” For a moment, Tommy grew quiet, quiet. “How can I ask him what’s going on? What do I say to him to- to make him trust me with that shit?”

“You don’t,” Techno said simply, letting himself relax further and melt into the couch. With both his cloak and a blanket thrown over him, even the chill from the weather coming inside didn’t matter. “Don’t say anything.”

“But- what if he think’s it’s _his_ fault that I left? What if he thinks he’s a bad friend and that I wanted to leave, or something? Does he think that _I’m_ the bad friend for not telling him everything?”

“…Hm. Invite him here,” he mused, “to look at the bees and…talk about bee things. Talk with him when he’s here, or whatever. Friends do that, right? Help each other?”

A pause.

“But…this is our home? And, uh, he’s probably busy with stuff back there?”

“…So?”

“ _So,_ he has all these duties under _Schlatt,_ ” and wasn’t _that_ a word that curled around the back of his consciousness, whispering of all the things he didn’t know and of all the things he would never understand. _Schlatt_. Such anger, such vehemence. “He’s _busy,_ but he keeps messaging me and being all _weird_ about it, I just want to know what I need to _do-_ ”

“Why’re you askin’ _me?_ ”

“…Because you’re my brother?”

Techno moved his arm. Opened one eye. Stared straight at him. “I don’t get what you’ve been sayin’. Don’t have context. Don’t remember _you_ that well. Just. Tell him what you think of him or don’t say shit.” He sighed. “Ask Phil, not me.”

Tommy made a bit of a whine in the back of his throat. Techno closed his eye again and moved his arm back over, sighing. “But then Phil’ll-”

“I’ll what?”

_Speak of the angel, and he shall appear._

“Tubbo’s acting weird even when I want advice for my bees and _I think something’s going on with him and_ -”

“Talk to him,” Phil hummed. A few steps approached, and Techno heard the sound of Tommy groaning, of Phil laughing and probably ruffling his hair as he pulled him in for a hug.

“But- but- _Phil…_ ”

“Nope! Off you go. Stop bothering Techno about your friend and maybe go do something about it, eh? You know he’s never been the best at that stuff, even before, I don’t know why you’ve always gone to him first to ask about social interaction…”

“But-”

“Communicator out, go talk with him! If you want him to come over- I think I heard something like that- go and ask him over, I don’t mind, there you go…”

“He’s really worried about them,” Techno observed after Tommy had stormed out, muttering and probably squinting at his communicator. He remembered, faintly, how his own had to be broken, still, sitting in a sad pile on the desk he never used in his room. “It’s…hm.”

“Tubbo’s a good friend of his.” Phil sat down beside him, making the couch move a bit as Techno felt the cushions shift, felt Phil move his legs and place them over his lap. He opened his eyes to see Phil sprawled out on the other half of the couch almost like he was. “…Wilbur’s probably worried about _his_ friends, too, but he’s a bit better on that. He actually messages people. About _feelings._ ”

“Horrible.”

Techno found himself smirking as laughter rose up, his arms crossing behind his head as he kept his eyes open, gaze drifting to the cieling.

…These people really were his family.

They were his _family,_ and he’d let the memories keep welling up until he overflowed, until he knew exactly why Tommy’s worry seemed interesting, exactly why he found himself humming melodies from Wilbur that he couldn’t properly remember, exactly why he felt such a deep well of _calm_ when he talked with Phil.

“I don’t mind being around you all,” he said thoughtfully, blunt and quiet- an _I love you_ without the words clear in his tone- and jumped when Phil’s arms wrapped around him, when the man’s bright laughter turned into soft sniffling. “…Hey.”

“Hey,” Phil said, and Techno opened his eyes to see his smile, to see the true happiness on his face. “I love you too, you know that?”

“That’s obvious.” He sniffed. “ _You’re_ the nerd who stays here all the time and apparently just waits for your brothers to visit.”

“Techno-”

“Phil.”

“Really!”

* * *

Everything was calmer now that they had…all settled whatever was going on days ago. Techno let life flow past, let himself remember. It was a bit of a difficult transition, though- Tommy and Wilbur couldn’t always control what they said, and the presence of three other people than one seemed to make his brain try and scream and remember more all at once. Another instance of one step forward, two back, two more forwards. It was, at the very least, maddening.

They were always there when he was about to do something stupid, though- or when he lost himself to what was before.

He wanted so dearly to go back to the island, back to automatons and that harsh winter and the dumb, ratty cloak, even if he would surely freeze if he wasn’t just…ignoring it. So often, he wanted to go back to that land of nothingness because it was _easy._ Fish for nothing, farm for potatoes, cook them unevenly over a fire. Here, there were fish, there were more crops, more mobs, more _words._

There were _monsters,_ even, and there was the biggest problem: his muscle memory of fighting back in high gear, enough for him to instinctively know what to do….and instinctively know that his body, unused to fighting as it had gotten over that muddy period of time, was far from being in proper fighting shape.

It frustrated him. It made him seethe silently, a weighted wooden sword in his hand as he practiced in his garden, slashing over and over again and doing it _well_ but making mistakes. Mistakes, mistakes, _mistakes_ : he knew they were happening, but didn’t know what they were. Couldn’t identify them.

Maybe it harmed him. Maybe it helped. He remembered flashes of training Tommy, bits and pieces of defending Phil’s old home- their old home- but where did he even learn to fight to begin with? Was he just training himself to become something that terrified the him of the present?

What was he like when he was younger, before he had been found? They couldn’t help with that, couldn’t even come _close_ to discovering that shard of him, and as time passed, it felt more and more like _that_ part of his life was what was holding him back from that technique, from feeling whole in that sliver of himself.

Techno didn’t like fighting. Not _now,_ at least- he could remember the adrenaline, the rush of blood, could get it all to come back without any of the memories attached- but his hands shook wildly when all was said in done, ready to throw up, and over the past days, weeks, he had found himself doing just that after going through the forest with Phil- or, more recently, Wilbur and Tommy.

He _refused_ to talk about it with them. Sure, it made them upset but- he _couldn’t._ Not when it clashed so much with the person they thought of him as. Not when, even with progress, that simple _(oh, oh, not simple at all, not at all)_ part of him broke apart like the facts of his life that were integral to him were all just facades. No matter what he covered it up with, though, they were noticing, slowly but surely, that something was wrong.

Not _wrong_ as in the episodes where he’d feel almost as if he were possessed by himself. Not _wrong_ in the sense where he could get more and more annoyed at them and let himself snap and growl- but the kind of wrong that felt like a quiet, soft sort of devastation, an unstoppable force twining around his heart and holding it hostage.

It was a slow, creeping kind of horror. It was the kind that made him silently scream, the kind that got him to repeat a motion of a sword over and over until he felt sick, the kind that wormed its way into his dreams and claimed prime spot in his thoughts until he felt as if he could do anything to make it _stop._

It was what kept him up at night. It was what had him raiding the cupboards for hot cocoa fixings- and lavender tea, after they ran out of cocoa powder- and it was what made him tightly at his unbound hair when he waited, tense and high-strung, for the microwave to finish its spinning. It was him deflecting questions, dancing around topics, fishing for a full day and refusing to leave for meals, not possessed by apathy but consumed by a dawning uneasiness.

He noticed their stares. How could he not? He noticed the glances between Wilbur and Phil, the looks that Tommy shot him before he seemed more focused than ever on his communicator. He stewed over it, the emotions and the memories that conflicted with what he wanted, and wondered if his half-hearted resolve to remember it all was truly worth it.

Sure, he had thought it before, had gone back and forth on whether this was what he wanted, to destroy the boundary between what _was_ and what _is_ \- but it was a serious kind of pondering, now, the kind where he only half paid attention when fighting the latest batch of monsters or herding some animals back into the pens that Phil kept, the kind that had him making stupid, _stupid_ mistakes.

 _The Blade never dies,_ he thought to himself one evening, stumbling back in with a lethargy born of spider poison, and laughed. It wasn’t deranged, not unhinged, but desperate, horrified at whatever had become of him before.

He tended to the wound himself, a practiced hand wrapping bandages around the forearm that had been bitten. It was good, to take this time to himself, to hide away in the bathroom-turned-first-aid-area, to check on himself as the other three did different things- all outside, about to come in to clean themselves up and sleep. It was a chance to breathe that he gladly took. His shoulder flared as he considered the spider bite- nasty, but the poison felt like it would wear off, fading as the wound that Phil had given him hummed a high note.

It wasn’t as bad as a healing wound. It was fine.

The bandages on that were gone, Phil-approved, but it wasn’t as if Techno could- or _would_ \- just _tell him_ that it kept hurting. There was no real reason to do that, not when it wouldn’t affect anything, not when all the scars he had before murmured their discontent at this, at that. A stab wound he had no recollection of moaned when he stretched, his knee ached just like it had on the island, and…well.

These were almost all from fighting, right? Monsters, other people- himself?

No, not himself, unless it was from him being dumb and tripping and cutting himself open on a rock or the sharp edge of a countertop.

But these scars were all from his past. All but the shoulder from Phil, all but the spider bite that he considered in the pale light of the bathroom and covered up with slow, routine movements.

He considered himself and felt something rise up from the deep, something that made his lip curl and shoulders set. He hadn’t asked for this body, but it was the one he had gotten, and if he wanted to cover it all up, longsleeved shirts and simple gloves and a vibrant red cloak, he could do that. It seemed to be what he had gone with before, so it left him elated.

But what were the stories behind those scars? Why had he been fighting? Had he been the terrifying thing that had appeared on the night with the spiders, or whatever had attacked Tommy?

Why did people even fight?

(Why had a child known fighting with such intimacy that it became the core of what they were?)

Why had _he_ fought?

…It was clear he wouldn’t find that lovely part of his life out anytime soon, even if he wanted to know. He made sure the bandaging was secure, pulled back on a clean shirt, sprawled across his bed in the other room, and promptly passed out- exhausted and ignoring the way that his body grumbled.

There was time.

(Was there time?)

There was always time.

* * *

Techno woke in the dead of night, eyes open to stare at the ceiling. Techno rolled his eyes and stumbled out of bed, paying no mind to the small commotion he was making. It’d be fine- he’d just go get a cup of warm milk or something, put some honey in it, and go back to sleep after he was done. Simpler than hot cocoa, simpler than tea. Good and simple.

Collapsing in the middle of the hallway, loud enough to wake anyone not in a deep sleep, was _not_ part of the plan.

 _Fuck,_ he thought, hands bringing themselves up to cup at his face. Gods, he hadn’t braced himself properly, was that blood on his face? He scrunched up his face and groaned at the way that it screamed back at him. Something was. Maybe broken. Was his nose all bloody?

He extended a hand and groaned, put it on the floor, and tried to pick himself up before anyone came running.

“What the _hell_ , Techno?”

“Not you, kid,” he rasped, shakily standing up and almost falling over not half a second later, if it wasn’t for the child that slipped under his arm. “Get- get offa’ me, you brat-”

“You fucking _fell_ in the _middle of the night-_ ”

“Techno?”

Phil looked at him blearily after his door opened, Wilbur peering down the hall from his own room a second later, and if Techno was thinking a bit more clearly, he would have recognized when Phil’s mind shifted from _“loud noise, investigate, fuck, I’m tired”_ to _“Techno’s hurt, mother bear mode is a go”._ His eyes brightened, alarmed and turning to Tommy for explanation, and Techno hissed as Tommy stumbled through a very lacking explanation.

“Just wanna’ drink,” he said, and valiantly turned to step forwards towards the kitchen, stumbling and clinging onto Tommy for dear life. His heart beat out of time, fast as a rabbit, leaving him panting and panicked as the other three grew more alarmed. “Just some- some milk ‘n hon- honey…”

“This isn’t from memories,” Phil seemed to murmur to himself before he took Techno from Tommy, steering him right around and back over to Techno’s room a few steps away. He complained and fought ineffectively at Phil’s handling, but there was no fighting Phil when he was worried and was on a mission. “You went out in the early evening, right? What happened?”

“Mm….” He snorted and shook his head. “Monsters. Y’know.”

“I don’t know,” Phil said tersely, sitting him down in a chair and examining him. “Sweating, delirious, loss of balance…” He paled. “Did you get hurt at all when we were out there, Techno?”

“I never get hurt,” he sniffed, crossing his arms and tossing his head back- and accidentally bashed it against the back of the chair. “Fuck- uh- that hurt. No. No, it didn’t. Didn’t hurt.”

“I forgot how much of a shit he is when he’s out of it,” Wilbur mused from the doorway. Techno found his gaze and lazily flipped him off. “Damn, you don’t have to do that. You’re such a rude, _rude_ little boy.”

“Not little,” he grunted-

“Arm, _now,_ ” Phil ordered tersely, and he whined as the man took the arm that flipped Wilbur off and pushed back the sleeve. “Bandages on it- Wil, go get the kit from the bathroom, okay? You know where it is- on the right, bottom shelf, white box-”

“Got it, got it, back in a second-”

Phil got to work. Even with Techno’s complaining and bitching and moving around whenever he felt so much as a hint of pain, he was able to get the bandages off before Wilbur came back. By that point, Techno just laid back and grumbled unintelligibly, hands shaking, shaking, _shaking_ as he sat there. He had tried to get up, but- well- it was no use with Phil there and Tommy hovering nearby.

“Turn on the light, please,” Phil murmured as Wilbur got back, and Techno flinched when the light got turned on, spasming a bit and closing his eyes. “There we go- just- oh, fuck.”

“What is it?” Tommy’s voice was quiet from where he had been on Techno’s bed, and Techno thought that, just maybe, Tommy was staring and clasping his hands together, worried beyond belief.

Silly, he thought to himself, and went back to hissing at Wilbur to turn the lights back off.

“One of the bad venomous varieties got him,” Phil announced, and the room got thrown into pandemonium for a second before he turned to stare at them all. “No. Either watch or go. Wilbur, wet this with warm water, get some soap on it, come back. Techno, does it hurt?”

Come to think of it, if Techno focused past a pounding head, the light on his eyes, and the way that his shoulder was acting up- “Like a bitch,” he confirmed, and now that he had focused on the pain he couldn’t focus on anything but it. He didn’t scream, didn’t hiss any more, but he shook and clenched his fists, trying to not let it get to him. He couldn’t let it get to him. _Shit._

“Arm up on the desk,” Phil ordered, and Techno nearly pulled his arm back when Phil elevated it to where it had to be. “Wilbur- you’re back, thank you, stay here- alright…fuck.”

“How bad is it.” Wilbur’s voice was flat. It was _unnatural,_ he thought, but he couldn’t quite comment on it with how much he had to deal with. He didn’t want to fucking- _deal with this_ \- but there he was, head screaming and arm howling and his whole body complaining one way or the other. It was enough to make him feel sick. He _did_ feel sick.

“I can take care of it,” Phil murmured, and Techno couldn’t help but give a trembling, pained smile.

Huh, this reminded him of something-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am...very tired. family tires me, work tires me, life tires me.
> 
> i hope this work is a little balm for anyone who's as tired as i am, eh?


	9. ix. two-toned echoes tumbling through time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are parts of one's life that nobody else knows, and never will know. Techno remembers skies that are more natural than the overworld. The others are mostly just panicking.
> 
> (Or: Memories returned from a spider's bite have a red overlay, which is honestly weird, because the world he knows isn't, uh. Red. And full of lava.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from multiple songs in the soundtrack for ffxiv's shadowbringers expansion, the most notable song being "shadowbringers"]

The sky was a wash of crimson and lavender, bleeding into each other almost as if they were opposing ocean waves. Techno clung to the sight, drinking it all in even as he lurched forwards, even as he kept himself going through his panic.

He didn’t know exactly where he was, but these people weren’t his, these people that looked similar yet so different to his mother so many miles away where she had raised him. They had proper tusks and mottled skin and sharp eyes so similar to hers, but their eyes saw him and thought _prey,_ thought _food_.

They talked among themselves, they traded, they had society, sure- but as soon as they locked their eyes on him they were gone to some kind of madness.

There had been nothing before this. Darkness, raised in the quiet, a shadowed parent with eyes of ruby and clawed hands, but they had been gone for so, so long. The world around his little cave of a home could only sustain him for so long.

He had grown hungry. He had ventured out and forged a sword of red stone to gather food.

Years later, he still survived this way, under this bleeding sky crowned by rocks, the only difference the discovery of society and the new ways he found to use that to survive.

The heat weighed on him, slowing his careful, sluggish movements. A hand pressed to his belly, the other to the wall of nether-rock that he stuck close to, Techno kept a close eye on the people nearest him. Their ears twitched when something screamed far away, but his own movements weren’t noticed at all. He could only hope that those in this area didn’t have a good sense of smell, or his blood would be more than enough to get him killed.

One step more. _One step more._

Every look at them reminded him of how different he was, how unnatural he looked- some of his teeth were a mimicry of their sharpened teeth and two tusks, sure, but their ends were by far blunter and harder to chew with, making his efforts to steal ineffective if he got some of their more preferred foods. His ears were rounder, even if they came to a point, not able to hear as clearly as they could, unable to distinguish the finer points of their harsh-to-soft accents, so similar yet so different from the tongue his mother taught him.

He was inferior in every way possible except- perhaps- the fact that he could claw out a living from the barest of things, could make his own sword of red rock and dark sticks and hone it until it could be even faster than their golden blades. He could utter a few words in a language that none of them understood, the smoother words clumsy on his tongue, and baffle them for a second or two.

That was how his world worked- be better, be faster, be stronger than them and you could live. Nearly dying was just part of the deal.

Didn’t mean that a sword in the gut didn’t keep him off of his feet once he got to a safe place for a good few days, though, until his food stores ran out and he had to go get more.

(The smaller ones played in their little villages, jokingly pushed each other near lava and giggled when one almost fell in. How could they be so…naive? Even at their same size, he felt more like the tall ones, the ones that watched their backs and fought each other and won and climbed to the top of their pecking order.

He wondered if it was the influence of the father he never knew, the one his mother had never mentioned before her absence.)

Red bled into lavender. Lavender bled into sickly blue and right back into crimson.

Everything hurt.

* * *

“Stop fucking trying to move!”

“Head- hurts- _fuck_ -”

“Painkillers, _now._ Techno, drink this. Do you know what kind of spider that was-”

“It hurts,” he breathed, and Phil cursed.

“Why did you have to go out- alone, mind you, we were all on the other side of the forest- and do _that-_ ”

“Hmm…did it before? Maybe?”

Poison wasn’t anything new for someone who had spent his life fighting, right? It seemed like something pre-potato Techno would do-

* * *

He was cornered.

Techno hadn’t thought it could get any worse, but as he stared down at the group of pig-people, sword clutched in his hands (so still, oh-so-still, he couldn’t afford to die here and hesitation would be death), he marveled at it all. Watched how the biggest and strongest of this village barked at each other in the harsh tongue that Techno knew like the back of his hand, their peculiar regional accent one that he had only grown to fully understand through his years of watching and stealing.

They would kill him, yes, but they wanted to make him as scared as they could get him before they tried to end it all.

To be honest, that was doing a pretty good job of scaring him all on its own. Who did that?

…These people did.

“He’s small,” they said to each other, glancing at him while others of their party brandished their axes and swords. “Look at it! Is he the one that’s been stealing from us? The one who our children have spotted in the past cycle? Thief!”

“Thief,” those around them murmured, and it seemed to rile them up even more, their sharp teeth ready to tear him apart, their body language tense and angry. Techno refused to let his hands so much as twitch, and looked around for exits.

Sure, he was good at fighting, but only enough to fend off two, maybe three of these people at once- and even then, that was sketchy with the fact that he was as small as most of their children. He had to escape by some kind of trickery or… or…

 _There._ If he could just make it over there, to that side of the group, there was a gap that was small enough that only their young could go through, and he could either hide in there, follow where it went, or break through to somewhere that would prove his escape.

He just had to have an opening for his shuddering heart to kickstart and push him through.

“Is it not even scared of us? It’s so tiny, look at it! But it’s hurt some of us before, just look at that sword, that shouldn’t even be possible-”

Techno struck, lunging forward from his perch to slash at the faces of those who had been slowly creeping up upon him. In the chaos, he slipped by one, two, ignored the commotion as they all started yelling- and let out a yelp of his own when one got him on the back of his leg, another taking a shallow cut on his side with their gilded swords.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , he wouldn’t be able to make it, would he? But it was so close, fuck, _there-_

Their angry screams echoed in the small alcove as they found themselves unable to follow the very, very clear blood trail, and Techno hurried as well as his traitorously hurt body would allow along the tunnel. They’d be back, either with their children or with knowledge of where the tunnel went, and he had to be far, _far_ gone before they had either of those.

The tunnel opened up into a small cave, washed in a mix of violet and white, and he stared with wide eyes at the… _thing_ that stood centerpiece in the cave, at the other tunnel that went out the opposite end, sized for someone nearly as tall as the adults.

What _was_ that thing? Bordered in dark stone almost like the rocks that wept violet, it was the source of the only light in the cave- pale and purple. He stuck a hand in it, momentarily ignoring the pain that cut across his body, that made him stumble and bleed and stain the rock he was now standing on and tumble forwards-

And then he was somewhere _else_ , a ground of green and a sky of milky blue and with nothing hanging above. He was somewhere else, with strange brown trees around him with _green leaves_ and _desaturated mushrooms_ , and it was enough of an anomaly to Techno that he…froze.

Where had he _gone?_ Had stepping into the light created by… _whatever_ that rocky thing was brought him here?

He looked back. The same portal as in the cave sat there, patiently waiting for another poor soul to step through and possibly return back to the caves of the Nether.

Techno considered the situation, the blood he kept leaving on the ground, the fact that he had no food, the fact that…everything was so strange.

 _Maybe,_ he thought, _It’s better off to stay here for a bit and see if there’s better food. Steal from people if I find them and do it better than before. Survive. Make sure I’m not caught like before, I can’t let myself get caught, I’ll die, I’ll die, I’ll die._

That sounded like a plan, but it was perhaps better to work on stopping the blood from his wounds before something very bad happened.

Yeah, _that_ was his first priority. He stood up-

* * *

“He’s asleep, right? Right?”

“Yes, Tommy. For the last time, he’s asleep.”

“What the hell do we _do_ with him?”

A pause. A sigh.

“Tommy, we just have to keep an eye on him. I’ll make sure nothing happens. I just count it lucky that I had some extra potions- that’ll counteract the worst of it until it starts to lessen. But…I don’t think you meant his health.”

“How do we fucking…stop him from doing that shit again, Phil? Is he going to ignore being poisoned _again?_ ”

“We keep an eye on him, like I said. Wilbur knows this. He got into all sorts of dangerous shit before we picked you up, and even after- you just barely noticed. Sit with him, okay? Talk with him. While he’s in bed, don’t let him get up unless he needs to go to the bathroom. We’ll all take turns but being alone isn’t good for anyone. Remember when you were real sick before?”

“…Yeah. And Techno was with me almost the whole time.”

“That’s right. Just…be patient. He’s not the best at bedrest, just like you.”

“Hey!”

“Hmnn…”

“Techno?”

Techno opened his eyes blearily before he closed them again, mind more on skies of red that washed into pale colors than the conversation that had happened as he woke. He flexed his free hand, the one that wasn’t elevated and wrapped in a towel, and thought about the heavy weight of a red-rock sword.

He thought about a language that was filtering back to him. One that felt true, that felt right, better for his tongue than the awkward syllables he forced out every day.

 _“I think I remembered something,”_ he mumbled thoughtfully, and let his eyes drift over to the other two…who looked hopelessly confused at his words. To his interest, Phil only seemed confused for a second before something clicked and he groaned.

“Go sleep, Tommy,” he ordered, and waved off the boy despite his arguments. Now that Techno was looking, even through his own sleepiness and pain and memories, Phil looked like everything had been taken out of him. Like he was only a faintly smiling body, barely awake. “Something happen while you were out, Techno? Remember a language?”

 _“Not really,”_ he mused, still in that half-cognizance. Muscle memory, but for the mind…Mind memory? No. More like muscle memory for his language skills. That was better. More accurate. _“Remember red sky, though.”_

“If only I hadn’t forgotten what I learned when I found you,” he sighed, and shook his head. “…Go back to sleep, Techno. You got bit real bad by one of the worst spiders in this world. Just your luck, huh…I hadn’t realized you’d forget what that kind of danger looks like, you know? It was pretty rare around before you left, but their population’s grown a little…”

The two of them seemed to both pause at the same time before, a second later, Phil chuckled. “Just sleep. You’ll have plenty of time to remember things in bedrest, especially once we all wake up and enforce it. Just know that if you get up, you’re going to hurt yourself. You don’t want to do that, I assure you.”

Techno hummed idly, rolled his eyes, and closed them again. It wasn’t as if Phil was _wrong,_ but still. That was fine. Sleep was good, anyways, for his exhausted brain. Not everything was really connecting. Spiders? Didn’t they just spin webs? Seemed silly that he’d get seriously hurt by one.

He fell asleep to the soft sound of a drizzle starting outside and his own soft breaths.

* * *

What were these creatures? They looked so similar to the people back in his world, so similar to the animals that they herded and hunted, but this one was…soft. It didn’t have proper tusks, didn’t have angry eyes. It was pink like his hair, milling about with an unassuming nature, and Techno tilted his head as he examined it.

He considered his red sword. Looked back up at…the thing.

Was it even good for food, or was it an ambush predator in hiding?

…He didn’t want to find out. Techno let it be and went on with his day, investigating where he had been put, the strange trees and ground and sky all around him.

This was not home. This could _never_ be a home, not like his shitty little hideouts were back in the other world, hot and oppressive and cramped.

…At least the mushrooms he picked along his way tasted good.

* * *

“Why’d you stay there?”

Techno tilted his head from where he laid to look at Wilbur, who sat on the only other chair in the room with a small frown. He held a guitar in his hands and plucked at the strings idly, looking towards the wall and not at Techno. They hadn’t spoken much for the last hour and a half except for when he was given some tea.

“…What?” Techno kept his eyes on Wilbur and offered a small raise of his eyebrows- even though it wasn’t seen.

“Why’d you stay on that island after you won?” An idle few chords were brought out, but they seemed to dissolve into nothing as his hands stilled. “Do you know why you stayed and kept farming and…and got trapped?”

Oh. This was something Techno knew, even though it was fuzzy on the exact details. He licked his lips, found them dry, and let the silence sit for a long moment. Wilbur seemed content enough to let him find his words. That was good.

 _Hum._ Why, exactly, had he done that?

“I think,” he said slowly, letting himself linger on each word as if savoring the taste of every one, “I just…liked farming. And that was…mostly what I had been doing in those months, when I wasn’t…checking on what Squid was doing and…sabotaging. It was calming.” A pause. “Quiet.”

“Go straight from something more like an actual war and into a potato war,” Wilbur murmured, and Techno could see the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “And then end up liking potatoes too much to go away instantly. Huh.”

“If only I remembered more before then,” he said dryly back. “It’d be nice if I could know why it was so refreshing besides…the fact that I wasn’t constantly fighting.”

“A big part of the server you were in- and even the subserver within that- is based on fighting, Techno.”

“…So?”

Wilbur let out a bark of laughter, something half-bitter and half-hysterical. Techno sighed and looked away. “So? You went straight to one of the non-fighting things, which- was so weird! I still don’t entirely get why you did that whole war in the first place! Maybe if you hadn’t…”

It didn’t take a genius to know what Wilbur had been going to say before he trailed off. “I had to beat a nerd in the amount of potatoes farmed,” he said, “and…I think, before I even thought of that, I had to get…books to upgrade items. Which I had to farm potatoes for. And then I ended up liking it. And I optimized it. And then I made my fields.”

“You go all in on whatever you do.”

“…Sounds like it.”

Wilbur gave another simple strum of the guitar. “Want to hear more of what I’ve been working on, Techno? I think I’m finished with one of the songs, just maybe-”

“Sure.”

When he looked back to him in the middle of the song, Wilbur’s eyes were closed, and he looked- happy. A bittersweet kind of happy, perhaps, but happy.

It made something in Techno feel warm, made him feel like a little ember in a fire instead of a piece of coal in the middle of snow.

“Tell me why you started…music,” he murmured after Wilbur fell silent, Techno putting his free arm over his eyes. The other shifted a bit, but at his body’s own complaints, he stopped.

“Well- it was before Phil came back with you, and to be honest, it sort of started before I even met Phil, but…”

* * *

_“Your music sounds like shit,”_ Techno yelled over the sound of Wilbur singing his heart out, his own voice carrying to where Wilbur sat. He only got a glare from the kid- they hadn’t understood what he said in his harsh syllables, unable to get words out in their smooth tongue, but obviously got that it wasn’t meant in kindness. Techno huffed from where he was perched and sharpening his red-rock- _netherrock_ , as the person named _Phil_ had called it- sword, glaring across the way at him.

Wilbur kept belting out his song. Techno sharpened his sword with a bit more annoyance, a bit more anger.

 _Gods,_ he was so annoying. The songs, as far as he could tell, were all about intangible things and meaningless items and events that he didn’t understand- and, he bet, Wibur didn’t understand either. They were _pretentious_ and they were _horrible_ and, worst of all, they were _useless._ What good was a song against a monster? Against a person? Against the people Techno had gone all his life avoiding, until he had stepped through that portal and appeared in this part of the world with its undescribable sky?

He could barely hold his own against Techno when he was exhausted and not looking for a fight. How could he possibly have gone this long without being killed by the many monsters Phil had shown him crept around in the night?

All he did was sit there and look pretty and talk. Talk, talk, _talk._

“Hey, Techno! Listen to _this,_ it’s great for you-”

Oh, _that_ did it- an insult _and_ mangling of his name to fit the human’s language. Techno tightened his grip on his sword and set his whetstone down, jumped off of his perch (sure, it was a ‘fence’, whatever _that_ word meant, but ‘perch’ described it perfectly in his mind) and walked over to where Wilbur’s back was to him. The older kid kept strumming, kept singing- and, if he tried to pay attention to the meaning of the words, the patterns that Phil had slowly been teaching him, recognized that it was about a _monster._

_It’s great for you-_

He dropped the sword and went straight for a punch, catching Wilbur in the jaw when he turned to look, hearing his heavy footsteps.

“Hey- what the fuck, Techno! I-”

He swung again, and Wilbur fell back, one hand clutching his jaw and the other making sure his guitar was safe, set to the side. Why did he care so much about it? Why did he care more about that wood than the fact that he had been punched? Oh, how it made him so _angry_ , so _furious._

“A _joke!_ It was just a _joke!_ ”

 _Joke._ Just another unrecognizable syllable.

Techno saw red. Another step forwards-

* * *

“I wasn’t all that great, at first, but what kids are, you know?” Techno could just feel the way Wilbur’s eyes crinkled as he picked at the guitar. “You sure didn’t like my totally great, cool songs and skills after Phil brought you home, little half-piglin thing that you were. Are.”

“It was all about dumb shit like monsters and sad feelings,” he muttered rather bitterly, and then froze. It was a second later that he lifted his arm off of his head to stare, eyebrows furrowed, at the ceiling- and then at Wilbur, who was staring at him with wide eyes and a devilish grin.

“You fucker- you understood half of that shit, didn’t you, god, you deserved all of my shittalking, you acted dumb on me!”

“Deception is a part of life,” Techno intoned, and couldn’t help but feel that happy little spark deep in his bones light up- it hadn’t been a response out of instinct. It was a response from something _clicking_ deep inside of him. His voice was flat, but there was no stopping the almost goofy grin on his face as he and Wilbur stared at each other. “And either way- talk shit, get hit.”

Wilbur slapped his arm lightly before falling into laughter, leaning back in the chair fast enough that he was barely able to stop himself from falling. That got a snort out of him, and then Wilbur was back to the guitar, giving it more energy and watching Techno with a look that said _hey, just wait for this cool, funny bit._

“Just for that-”

He went into a rendition of a song that Techno actually _remembered,_ albeit only partly, one that gave him some kind of a horrible cross between an endlessly amused grin and a terrifying scowl. The war on his face made Wilbur break into giggles whenever he wasn’t playing, but it ended with that feeling in his chest warming his whole body.

“I hate you, Wilbur,” he said after it was all said and done, but there was no wiping away his dumb smile. All Wilbur did back was cackle, rude and horrible and so like the recollections in his mind of his older brother that he almost couldn’t handle it. “You’re horrible.”

“You love me,” he responded, full of sing-song and banter. Techno ineffectively waved his free arm at him. “You do, you do, you _do!_ ”

“I banish you from my realm. Tell Phil that you’ve been banished forever.”

“I don’t think so!”

Wilbur’s light laughter was one of the sweetest songs Techno had ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got coconut wafer snacks from the asian market today. they're from italy. these little bitches taste so good im not even kidding
> 
> also my workplace got broken into the other night but the robbers couldnt steal anything bc they couldnt open up the back of their van KEKWWWW
> 
> hope everyone's doing good! if not, here's me givin you a little hug and some words! go conquer tomorrow and feel better than you did today!


	10. x. i'll always be negotiating with the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milk with honey is the new hot commodity in their little world. Tommy's pretty bad at concealing his worry. Techno's scars are still a topic of deep internal thought.
> 
> (Or: Will he ever stop wondering about who he used to be? Will he ever end up liking what he digs up from the deep?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "compulsive liar" by ezra furman]

“I’ve done good with it, yeah? There’s nothing wrong with the honey, or anything?”

Techno considered his warm mug of milk and looked back to where Tommy hovered and flitted around him, sitting up in his bed and trying to ignore the way that the spider bite hissed and screamed and pulsed under the bandages. The kid looked excited and horrified of possible failure in turns, and he couldn’t help but quirk a tired little smile at it, couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. That only got him _more_ fidgety.

“Tommy…”

“I’m gonna kill Tubbo, he _totally_ lied to me when he came over about the honey those bees’d make-”

Ah, that must have been the shock of dark hair that he had seen out the window running around with Tommy a few days ago, before the whole spider bite had gone down and Phil swooped down on him like a hyper-parental hawk. He hadn’t talked with the other boy- he was pretty sure they barely even knew about him- but Tommy had seemed happy. Had brightened up a little after Tubbo came and went, like something was off of his shoulders.

“-and he said the bees were fine and happy, you know? Said they liked me, but maybe that’s just because he wanted me to _fail,_ that _bastard_ -”

“It’s good, Tommy,” he slid in, taking a long sip of the eveningtime drink while Tommy rambled on…and then stopped, his mile-a-minute brain finally processing what he had said.

It didn’t even take a second for him to light up again, his fire rekindled, and Techno hid a smile behind drinking as Tommy started to rant about how Techno had led him on, how he was such a _dick_ , such a _horrible brother._ He went on in that manner a lot, Techno had learned- but it was easy to tune out and count as background noise. To be honest, though, there was still such amusement to be gained from just listening. It was almost like a one-man comedy routine.

“You absolute- how _dare_ you- I nearly slandered Tubbo, you prick, I can’t believe you would make me do that! That’s some of the best honey this side of the whole universe, I’ll have you know, no matter what world you go to, just know that’d cost you all of your diamonds and a whole arm on Hypixel-”

“Bartering on…on a server like that.” Techno snorted. Tommy flipped him off.

“You know what I mean! Now drink that or so the gods help you I’ll make you drown in honey!”

“So scary.”

“I’ll show you scary!”

“Mmm. _Sure._ ”

He took a long, slow slip of the honeyed milk and let himself drift. Even with Tommy, the yammering on became a bit rote after some time.

* * *

“So, I was thinking,” Tommy said out loud, thoughtfulness layered over his ear-piercing voice, “that-”

“Thinkin’s dangerous, for you. You know that, right?”

Tommy shot a venomous glare in his direction. Techno hid his smile and drew his bow back up, peering down his makeshift range to his target in the distance. Hmm. He had to start thinking about what improvements could be made to this bow- it just wasn’t accurate enough. It drew as smoothly as butter, as fast as he could dream for, but it just lost all that benefit when you couldn’t hit what you were going for.

“So I was thinking,” he emphasized, a sneer clear as day in his voice, “that it would be good for you if I went with you when you left to, like, kill monsters and shit! And go visit other worlds! Like Hypixel! You’re always there, you’re barely ever here-”

“What makes you think that.” He selected an arrow and examined it. Strung it up, quick as a flash to draw- and lowered it with a dissatisfied frown. Selected another arrow, the weight of choice dancing upon his palms.

“Well, I can’t get better if I just do all those stupid stances you and Phil make me do! And Wil just laughs at me when I want to practice with him? Experience- yes, experience- is the best teacher for someone like me! And Hypixel’s all _about_ fighting shit!”

He reserved the incredulous look that he would normally give in favor of examining the second arrow he picked up with greater scrutiny. Did he have to make a whole other set of arrows as well? Fuck. Perhaps someone had been practicing with this set when he was away, because things were just _wrong_.

“Phil said you were practically fighting as soon as he _met_ you, and you were younger than I was when you were found, right? How old _were_ you?”

“Old enough to be smart about when I fight,” he said, dry as a bone. “Unlike _you_.”

“Hey!” Surprisingly, he seemed to cool himself off before talking again instead of just…going off on him. “I just…It doesn’t feel like I’m getting any _better,_ Techno! Come on, just let me tag along, I’ll just watch, I _swear-_ ”

“If you come along, you’ll try to fight everyone you see- or every _thing_ , if it’s just the forest- and then claim they attacked first.”

“…No, I won’t.”

He drew the arrow and let it loose, watching carefully as it embedded itself on the target- a solid foot to the side of where he had aimed for. He had taken wind into account, come _on_. “Yes, you will,” he sighed, and lowered the bow so that he could sit down on a tree stump he had put by his little range for such an occasion- examining the rest of his quiver. “Going through what you already know _matters,_ Tommy. Experience…It’s good, but it’s dangerous as hell.”

He certainly had the scars to prove it, both concealed by his long clothing and not.

“I swear- I’ll tell Phil that you’ve been going out more times at night just to fight monsters than he _told_ you to,” Tommy said with a sniff, crossing his arms and posturing like he had just done something amazing. “I _know_ you’ve been sneaking out, you know! You’re not exactly the most _secret._ ”

…Tommy had him there. If Phil found out, he’d give Techno the _Look,_ and then he’d crumble under the pressure that Phil put him in until he was nothing but a miserable little speck of dust with only his clothes to mark that he had once been there.

How the hell had Tommy found out?

“When I can’t sleep, I look out the window,” Tommy said after a moment, grinning. Ah. He had spoken out loud. “So easy to see you going out- or coming back half covered in monster guts. It’s hilarious to hear you try and clean yourself up without waking Phil, you know.”

“Whatever,” he said, waving a hand at the kid and ignoring the way he _brightened_. “You can come with me when I head back to Hypixel, okay? That way there’s no pressure. If something bad happens I can send you right on back here. And I _will_. It’s a promise, nerd.”

Sure, he’d come back if he died in Hypixel’s respawnable servers, but maybe that feeling of death would scare him enough that he wouldn’t try such reckless stunts elsewhere. Coming back was a _privilege_ , only granted if the creators of a server had enough know-how and sheer power to hold that enchantment over their world- and an ability from admins coveted beyond belief. Their world didn’t have it- if Phil were to see Techno bringing back Tommy’s body from dying here, he’d be dead and _stay_ that way.

Better that Tommy get scared into behaving than for him to see- to see-

* * *

“Do you remember,” he said in the middle of Tommy’s rant, “when you blackmailed me into bringing you along to…to, ah, Hypixel? That server?” Beyond faint recollections, beyond something that coated his tongue with caution, he remembered white halls, bare feet, being overwhelmed. _Where he had been trapped._

Tommy peered down at him from where he stood, clearly suspicious. “I've done that, like, a billion times.”

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. “The first time.”

“Oh- the first time! Man, I can _totally_ feel Phil’s disappointment at me from back then,” Tommy groaned, dramatically throwing himself back onto Techno’s bed and making it wobble. He bit back a hiss as it jostled his arm, jostled the other one holding his mug- but everything was fine. Nothing spilled. It just _hurt_ to hell and back.

“All ‘Oh, Tommy, how dare you pressure Techno into that, you know how it affects him’ and ‘You could have died if Techno had chosen to take you to the wilderness instead’ and not ‘Wow, you did so good there, Tommy! You lasted so long in those cool, cool battles’!”

Huh.

“If I recall correctly,” Techno said, closing his eyes and trying to fish for the tail end of that memory, “You got taken out about two minutes in. You didn’t even defend your base.”

“I so _did_ ,” Tommy retorted, tossing his head as if that actually did anything from where he laid. “You’re just jealous about how good I did. Chasing after your dumb winstreak.”

“You were the first one out.”

“No I wasn’t!”

“…My memory’s pretty bad, sure, but I think I remember you wiping out like a total dork.”

“You’re a dork.”

“You really wanna test me?” When Tommy looked at him, Techno drained the rest of his mug, set it on his bedside table, and arched his eyebrows dramatically at Tommy until he relented and huffed, shaking his head. “Thought so. I could kick your ass while like this.” He waved his hurt arm and stayed strong as it howled with renewed determination, the only sign of his pain the spasming of his hand. He put it back down before Tommy could worry.

(Would he even worry, if he noticed it?)

“Hey-”

“No actual fighting,” Phil’s voice called out sharply as he passed by the room. Tommy went from a raging brat to a wilted husk of a person, dramatically twisting and bending and ended up all over Techno’s legs.

“Such a buzzkill,” Tommy muttered.

“Gotta agree with you there. Woulda’ been funny to deck you like this.”

“…Ugh. You’re the _worst._ ”

“Hm.”

* * *

“It should be good enough to get moving without you feeling dizzy in…hmm…”

Phil held Techno’s arm in his lap, the two both sitting on his bed with the medical kit to Phil’s far side. He turned the arm back and forth, giving the two of them a good view of the nasty-looking wound that the spider bite had become.

How the hell could a spider bite become such a _bitch?_ How could it look like anything but a spider bite except for the circular forms it took? It made Techno wonder if he’d have a hard-to-explain circular scar on that arm that would stare angrily at him for the rest of his life.

“Tomorrow, I’ll let you walk around as long as someone’s with you when you’re out of your room,” Phil decided, nodding decisively. “Maybe if it was any other spider, I would’ve let you out beforehand, but…the effects of this kind aren’t the best documented.” His mouth curled into a small frown.

His silence seemed to be enough for Phil to start on rambling about it.

“Apparently, ah, they only start showing up in worlds after there’s been enough time for spiders to reproduce and form enough varieties, some of which tend towards poison- and it’s not like all the smaller worlds give up all their information on them for free, and on those bigger, older worlds they’ve been eradicated for years and years. Anything about them is distant history. Guess we better keep on the lookout for more, now.”

“…How does that even work?”

“I don’t entirely know, myself, even though I count as the admin of this place,” Phil hummed, not looking entirely happy with the prospect of the spiders coming back. “I need to look more into it. Those larger servers have enough manpower to trace those spiders to their root whenever they show up, but there’s just me and whoever visits- currently you three, sometimes Tubbo.” He sighed, and Techno could almost taste the exhaustion that Phil clearly had, scrambling to find any information about it ever since he had been hurt.

“If those spiders keep coming, and if they’re aggressive enough to get past your guard- even when you’re not at your best- they could be fatal to me on my own.”

Something lurked, dark and heavy, in Techno’s gut. It screamed and howled at that statement, enough for him to ball his hands into fists and clench as tight as he could until he could feel his arms- especially the bitten one- become a crescendo of pain, bringing his focus into a razor-sharp edge.

“They won’t be,” he muttered, “because I’ll be here.”

“Techno,” Phil said softly, taking a moment to clasp a fist in his hands, “You won’t be here all the time, especially after you remember everything and want to go out on your own, okay?You’re welcome here whenever, but you won’t be here all the time.”

“I _will_ be.”

Gods above, he would stay here. He’d grown attached to these people, to Phil most of all, and the line between the past and the present kept slowly, slowly growing thinner.

He wanted to stay here. He wanted to sew little bags of lavender with Phil, the motions somehow more precise than anything else he could do. He wanted to fish and farm and make sure Phil’s home was safe.

He wanted-

“No. No, Techno, you _won’t_ be. It’s fine, okay? I knew you’d be in and out of here ever since you stepped foot in Hypixel. You were back and forth since before we found Tommy, even.” The corners of his eyes crinkled up, and was that a hint of sadness in his eyes? “I wouldn’t complain if all of you would come back more often, though. It’d liven things up more than the spiders would!”

That was. A good change of subject. “…Does the generational mutation happen with other creatures?”

Phil took a beat, took two. He leaned back and took a long sip of tea, long since grown lukewarm. “Probably with some of them, the ones that reproduce naturally,” he said, lingering on every word thoughtfully. “I’m not sure about the zombies, since they have a pretty quick death cycle- same with skeletons, but since they come out of the earth from ambient energy…change the energy, maybe you can change exactly what comes out.”

What the hell did _ambient energy_ mean?

“With creatures of the Nether, though, I’d bet it’s likely- they reproduce naturally, too, although Piglins aren’t the type to leave the Nether or be interested in the wider universe. You’ve been able to translate whole conversations between Piglins to me, although we never went there unless we needed something- they have a language, a culture. They probably change as slow as humans do. But…spiders would be the biggest culprits for variants, followed perhaps by creepers, but they’re sparse to begin with.”

“…Aren’t there things in the water?”

“They don’t particularly like coming up to land, but if you go down there, I think you’d find more variety than up here. Nothing dangerous enough to always pose a serious threat, though, in most of the rivers, lakes and oceans…most dangerous thing you’ll find is a trident-wielding Drowned, but that’s just because they’re the designated hunters for their groups.”

“…Tridents.”

“Yes?”

He could feel the weight of a trident, could feel some kind of energy propelling him forward, could run his fingers along the etched edge of one and know that it would return when called.

He knew the difference, in some way, between a trident cutting through water and a trident going through a body.

That wasn’t exactly a welcome thought at the moment. He refused to let the thought go any further before the tea in his body decided to leave.

Techno let his fists relax before, seconds later them again. “I think I had a trident, once,” he mused, looking to Phil and then out the window, where he could see the border between the land and the ocean. “In some other server, where they gave those out to fight with…”

 _Hypixel,_ he thought. _It’s always mentioned. It’s familiar. That’s the place, right?_

“What were they like?” As Phil asked, the blonde started to dab a bit of a potion onto his arm. From the smell, Techno was pretty sure that it was just a weak one to promote passive healing, but, well- it was just a hunch. It was bitter beyond belief. “The tridents?”

“…Interesting,” he said after a long moment, thinking and _thinking_ but not getting a clearer picture in his mind’s eye. “I think…I was alright at it. Not close to the best, but…alright. I remember…rain.” Very, very faintly, but it was almost as if he could smell energy in the air, the charge before a storm, damp and foreboding. He sniffed once more and found only the smell of lavender in his nostrils.

“ _Techno,_ not the best at a weapon?”

“If my body didn’t act it out for me, I’d laugh you off if you told me I was anywhere approaching decent at fighting to begin with,” he murmured, not smiling at Phil’s joking manner. “If my memories hadn’t start to come back. If I hadn’t, apparently, enjoyed fighting before all of this happened.”

The room fell silent, devoid of their quiet chatter as Phil finished up with the potions lined up beside him. The man, his _brother_ sighed, started to bandage up Techno’s arm, and looked up at him just as he finished with it. The only thing that could be heard after a moment was Techno’s voice, laid bare in the quiet.

“I’d never want to be the best at weaponry.”

“Techno?”

“…What?”

“If nothing else,” he murmured, “don’t talk bad about who you were before. It doesn’t matter if you just- stop fighting as much, after you get all of your memories back, or if you go back to things you don’t remember yet. If you were thinking you were a _monster_ , if you think you’re a person who just gets caught up in a fight for the sheer _thrill_ of it…”

Techno stared. _Was Phil a mind reader?_

“Before anything else,” Phil said firmly, “you fought to _protect._ To protect _yourself_ , to protect _us,_ to protect those you _cared for_. You trained us in the past. That’s an extension of that. To battle against others in places with stakes lower than permanent death is training yourself, in a way. It’s not a selfish thing.”

_Phil helps us survive, Tommy. I help to destroy._

He frowned and looked away from Phil’s too-intense gaze, face hot with a budding sense of shame. “How would _you_ know that?”

“Because, silly-”

Phil drew him into a short, tight hug, ignoring the slight spasm he got from Techno’s surprise.

“You told me so yourself, not too long before that whole potato war deal started. Take it from your former self if nobody else, okay?”

“I could’ve been lying.”

“You’re not the kind of person to do that, Techno.”

“…If you say so.”

“…Hot chocolate?”

“Please.”

* * *

That night, after Phil left, a frozen moment in time before Phil fetched someone else to watch him- or perhaps came back himself to double up on a shift- Techno sat in his bed with a cooled off mug of ‘hot’ cocoa and frowned, tracing the rim of the mug with an idle finger as he thought.

 _Be careful, too much thinking could hurt you,_ something murmured internally, and he quirked a little smile. A hunch said that too many people had said that to him. He’d probably said it to too many people, too. It blended together, but not in a way that was altogether _horrible._

What was the line between fighting for sport and fighting to protect? What was the line between fighting to purely destroy and fighting to survive?

He considered the dark liquid in his mug, probably looking far too serious for the moment. He watched it for a moment, examined how it moved as he tilted the mug back and forth, and couldn’t help the sharp exhale from his nose as he set it, unfinished, on the bedside.

The spider bite pulsed once, twice, thrice, a constant underlying hum to his life as he knew it in the past days, the past week. It acted as a neverending drum beat, accompanying his heart like a thump to a guitar. Was it worrying that the consistency comforted him?

Perhaps.

_You’re not the kind of person who lies._

Even as he remembered more and more, brought back by smells and words and _experiences_ , he still found himself with holes in his mind that became more and more evident. There was the fact that, even with so many memories of fighting, of training, of everything, he couldn’t quite connect the dots. Why had he done _this?_ How had he done _that?_ Everything tangled up and up and up until he wanted to pull at his hair, until he wanted to scream and scream and hack his lungs right out onto the floor.

Were his scars marks from where he had protected someone, or where he hadn’t thought of himself, only of his objective to hurt? When he fought elsewhere, did he go for a quick, painless kill or to bring suffering upon whatever poor soul he faced?

Had he died before?

 _Techno never dies,_ something hummed in the back of his mind, echoed until it reached the deepest recesses and clung there to dear life. _Techno never dies, the Blade never dies, the Blood God never dies._

It made him take a deep breath. Let it out.

(What happened when someone died, if you were in a server that would let you respawn? Were you reset to some kind of base form? Did scars carry over? Were you returned to a state where your skin laid unblemished, not marred?

He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember, he couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember couldn’t remember couldn’t _couldn’t-_ )

He groaned and leaned back, throwing his no-good, terrible, _horrible_ bandaged arm over his eyes. Thinking just wasn’t _worth it,_ sometimes. Far easier to let yourself drift, to unmoor from the shores of reality- but wasn’t that what had fucked everything up to begin with? Was his faint sense that the war had been about leaving something behind _correct?_

For better or for worse, Techno had to face the half-hidden shadow of himself and not shy away.

He was scarred. Far more scarred than it seemed Wilbur, Tommy, or even Phil had to be. It left him wondering if reviving really did take scars away- and, if that was true, and Phil had revived when visiting another place, would Phil deserve more scars than him? Or did he just live a hell of a lot more cautiously than Techno ever had?

He lifted his arm up and examined it for what had to be the millionth time in the past week, much less the month, looked at all the scratched up skin with its slightly smoother or raised bits, just a little whiter than the rest of his body. Even just the arm, as the sleeve slipped down, showed far more than he would think on first glance. A wicked curve, a slash, multiple cuts from what had to be nicking himself on something or barely escaping a blade, a proper bite, an arrow.

Even his hands weren’t unmarred. The tip of one finger was blunter than the rest, something he hadn’t actually paid attention to before because it was just a _part_ of him. Maybe it had been cut off by…something or another long ago. Certainly not recently, that was for sure.

But were these the scars of someone aiming to _defend?_ That was what kept picking at him, what left him still _looking_ instead of taking another drink of lukewarm cocoa to fall asleep with. Were these really for what Phil said, or was he a liar?

He couldn’t be a liar. Phil wouldn’t lie to him, not about something like this.

He let out a long, softer groan, making sure to not bring anyone into the room earlier than they decided to be.

_Fuck it all._

It made his stomach sick, made him feel smaller than anything and everything, but he couldn’t fucking escape from the loop his mind went in, the circles it ran around his psyche. The more he kept thinking about it, the more he felt he would go insane.

He needed _more_. He needed to remember more, needed to hoard it all up and devour recollections like cursed little pieces of candy. It had gone from a reluctance to a vague acceptance and then to a ravenous _hunger,_ eating at him until he continued on the path of investigating and shying away, investigating and shying away.

He’d find out who he was. He would.

He would, no matter what it cost in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty shell fuckin shocked that this has as many kudos and hits as it does. makes all my other fics look bad, huh. a quick salute to my two obscure fandom fics that have like 20 views each. thank all yall.
> 
> december's here. whether you love or hate the month and christmas cheer, hope the month goes well for you. <3


	11. xi. i was made to become a sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After he's considered well enough to at least walk on his own, Techno's allowed around the house. Tommy's bad at remembering the right names for things. Techno thinks about a skeleton of a home.
> 
> (Or: There's not all that much rest in remembering.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "six" by sleeping at last]

“You didn’t finish your drink?” Phil watched as Techno, fresh out of bed before dawn, finally allowed to move about in the house with supervision, and almost looking like death warmed over, poured the dregs of his hot chocolate into the sink.

Techno hummed, vague and sleepy, as he stared down at the sink. It was another beat before he reached up to turn the faucet and let it all properly drain, another beat before he watched brown turn clear with the rushing water. Clean away all the blurriness. “Nah.”

“Why not?”

He set the mug in the sink and shrugged, adjusting his faithful cloak almost as if it were a shield from the world. If he thought about it, it almost felt as if it actually were one, words etched into it and all. _Protect whoever wears this._ The thought was hazy. Indistinct. “Too sleepy. You know how it is.”

_You’re not the kind of person who lies, Techno._

How true was that now? How true was it when one lie rolled into one, rolled into two, into many more?

“…I didn’t get enough sleep for this.”

“Mm. Same.”

“Then go sleep, you-”

Techno huffed out a breath, faintly amused, and glanced at Phil before he looked back to the sink, eyes on the mug for a second, two…a third, and he looked away. “It’s gettin’ light out, Phil. Why waste it?” Maybe they’d let him lounge by the window closest to the potato field. Tommy had promised that he’d keep it in the best shape he could, but _still._ One could never be too worried over their potato field, right?

“At least lay down on the couch and close your eyes. Get some rest for ‘em before the sun properly comes up and Wilbur and Tommy come barging in.”

“…Aye aye, captain.”

“Hah.”

He flopped down onto the couch, winded from moving around, pressure and position of his spider-bitten arm having complained ever since he stumbled out of bed with Phil at his side. He groaned, let his arm rest on top of his chest, and tried his best to block out the pain, tried his best to drift into slumber.

A side dish of memories was fine. He didn’t care. Better to be half-asleep and remembering bits than half-awake and only knowing pain.

Techno closed his eyes and let himself come along for the ride.

* * *

“Why do you like lavender so much?”

Techno froze from where he was clumsily sewing a bag up, shooting an incensed glare behind him at Phil, who walked in and sat delicately on his bed. _Gods,_ he was so much taller than him- only half a year into living with the guy, with Wil, and it didn’t seem to be getting any better. Even _Wilbur_ was shooting further up in height, which was only fuel to the fire that was their bickering.

“Smells good,” he said, and the words rolled clumsily over his tongue but _stuck_ , understandable even through the slightly slurred syllables. He looked back to the bag with a frown and started finishing it up. “Soft. Not too strong. Diff’rnt.”

“What about roses?” He could almost sense the way that Phil tilted his head, his tone genuinely curious about the answer.

Genuinely _caring_.

Techno sniffed, noticing the way that roses bled into the distinctly _lavender_ smell of the room. It was on Phil’s clothes, was probably in his room. He thought he had seen roses around there, but…yeah. _That was the red flower, right?_

“Not the same. Not. Not as soft. Lavender’s better.”

“How _could_ you! I swear, I’m going to replace all your bags with mine-”

It was odd, to have someone ruffle his hair. Usually, they just tried to stab him if they were close. Those were the things you had to get used to when adopted by a strange creature- a _human_ , Phil had told him, making Techno a ‘hybrid’- whatever _that_ meant, too- but it was. Nice.

Phil drew him close after he finished a bag, ruffling his hair a bit more while Techno groaned and half-heartedly tried to struggle away. It ended up with Phil, back against the wall on his bed, fingers combing lightly through Techno’s hair while he relaxed, minding less and less the way that the lavender smell of the room started to mix with dried roses.

“I’ll teach you how to do it a bit neater later,” Phil murmured, “but first, let’s get your hair all neatened up…we can’t have you getting your hair in everything, can we? I picked up a few ways to braid from my mother, back when I lived in another server…”

Techno simply _melted_ into Phil’s touch, dozing away as his hair started to get braided.

Phil was good. Wilbur, even as a brat, was good.

In times like these, he could let memories of red skies and sharp tusks fade away.

* * *

“Right there- yeah, yeah. Good. Have you done this before? I mean, it’s the simplest stitch, but-”

“I have to sew up bags of lavender to put in my wardrobe as well as patch up my own clothes when they tear,” Techno said, and it shut the other person up for a long moment. He examined his work critically, a square of fabric with a razor-straight line of stitching through it right next to a few test letters, and sighed.

It was all so _boring_.

“I think I’d like to go onto the other lessons now,” he murmured. “I have things to do. I know what you offered, but I can’t waste this much time on the less useful parts if I want to get any good at this.”

“You’re good with a sword, yeah?”

He glanced up. A blank face smiled at him.

“You know I’m good with a sword,” he told them, and it was flat with the kind of cold that could only be brought out when he was well and truly _annoyed_. “You know who I am. I’d say _everyone_ here in this server knows who I am.”

“Techno, the Blade, the fledgling Blood God…” They waved a hand and laughed. “I mean, it’s impressive! Enough to be in a lavish apartment and about to move into one that’s even better! But you had to get good at the sword somehow, right? By practice…and practice…and practice…even for the simplest things!”

A fire-lightning sky. A sharp cry. A memory that flashed up within a memory, unable to be seen from clouds of haze. Ruined immersion, for a second, before he was back to being the full Techno that was being remembered. He frowned at the thought, the memory clearly sparking _something_ up within him. (What was it, to be so strong?)

“Stitches this simple aren’t even worth muscle memory. How can a straight line influence your work? If you’re good at straight lines, it doesn’t even matter to you.”

“But it _does_ matter, you see? You get faster the more you do it. The faster you get, the more stitches you can chain in a line even when you’re doing more complicated techniques. The more work you can get done for profit, for family, for _anything_ …”

“You haven’t even taught me runes yet. It’s been a week.”

“This is how _I_ learned it, okay? Maybe we can start on it next time, if you’re good enough, and I can actually fetch my old notebook…”

He was going to strangle them. Oh, how he wanted to just _scream_ -

* * *

“I don’t know about this kid, chief.”

“Stop calling him _chief_ , Techno. _Gods,_ that’s so dumb. Just call him Phil. Or, you know, _brother._ ”

“Don’t know about Wil, chief.”

“You two, stop it,” Phil chided, raising his eyebrows at the two of them as he presented…a _kid_ to them. Blonde hair, almost a little like him, already trying to grow up like a beansprout. A little weed in the grass that was just asking to be trampled on for looking even faintly like their older brother.

Why was there a stranger here? Were they a monster in disguise or something?

His hand drifted to his side, where a little gold-plated dagger sat.

“ _Techno._ ”

His hands clasped right back together at his front, where they had surely been intended to be all along.

“Don’t know about this kid, chief,” he repeated blandly, eyes leaving the kid to go back to their brother. “You call me back here right before a tournament weekend to see…a _kid?_ ”

“This is more important than a tournament,” Phil said, disappointment seeping deep into his voice. Not mad, never truly furious- but _disappointed._ Techno stiffened, closed his mouth, and shut up.

“He looks like a fuckin’ bitch,” a voice muttered, and Techno’s eyes flashed to look at the kid again- a scowl on their face, deep and angry as they stared directly at Techno. “Hate ‘im.”

“He’s your new brother now, Tommy,” Phil said, all soft and kind where he had been hard edges to Techno, and looked back to them. “This is Tommy, you two. He’ll be your new brother.” _No arguments, you two_. “Treat him good, alright? Make sure to stay here more often. It’ll be nice to have you back, Techno- nice to have everyone together.”

_Ah, fuck. Playing the family card._

“I’ll be going back for the tournament,” he sighed, “but I’ll make sure to come back straight after for you nerds.” _Even if this kid’s more of a brat than Wil was_. Wilbur hit him. He slapped the hand away. He didn’t need any nasty mind readers near him. “…Nice to meet you, Tommy.”

Where had Phil gotten this kid, anyways? This was a private server that had been around for a year already.

…Maybe they were related by blood?

…Didn’t matter. He was here now, and it was all that mattered, even if it wasn’t a twist that he or Wilbur had expected.

Tommy’s grin was sharp and wide and _brittle_ and it only made Techno all the more thoughtful for it.

* * *

“Be quiet, you two, Techno’s _resting-_ ”

“Oh! Hey, big guy! You’re out here now! Did you see the bees- I moved where I keep them, you know, they’re all buzzing around right outside the window here, Tubbo said they looked _great_ and I was all like, ‘I know’, because I _knew_ , and then he showed me a picture of where he’s keeping _his_ bees, and it’s like a _designer home_ -”

“Tommy. Really.”

“He’s clearly awake, Phil!”

“He’s not wrong,” Techno groaned, opening one eye to see Tommy grinning right in front of him. _Little shit._ “Back up a bit, Tommy, gods.”

He gave a little shuffle back. Techno rolled his eyes- or just _eye_ , perhaps, but it wasn’t as if it mattered that much. An eye roll was an eye roll.

“Rest some more,” Phil chided-

“I have. Just hasn’t done me any good.”

“Well,” Wilbur said, “here’s to you resting better, huh? And to you getting out of your room.” He mimicked a cheers with an empty hand from behind Tommy before he absently nodded a greeting and swept by properly into the kitchen.

“You want, uh, some honey milk?”

“It’s called _honeyed_ milk,” Techno corrected Tommy, and held back a chuckle when Tommy started muttering under his breath about how right he was and how so, so wrong Techno was. _Yeah, sure, kid._ “…I wouldn’t exactly say no to it. Don’t know exactly how long I slept, but it…wasn’t that well.” Not in the sense of nightmares, but just…he didn’t feel _rested._ He felt exhausted- perhaps from memories, perhaps from the damned bite, or even perhaps his aching knee feeling like there was going to be a strong storm in a few days. Ah, well. It could have been anything.

“Maybe I should have kept you back in your room for another day,” Phil murmured, and then started muttering to himself about _spider bites_ and _data_ and _more information to get,_ which made Techno tune him out and listen more to Wilbur and Tommy, the younger of which had gone to the kitchen and was humming something of Wilbur’s in a terrible off-key tone while making what Techno had requested.

“Hey- Tommy, that’s not even _right!_ ”

“ _My_ song now, bitch boy,” Tommy proclaimed, and Techno let everything fade into blissful background noise as he shifted on the couch, pulling a throw blanket over him and squinting blearily up at the rotating fan above. Sure, it was good, it stopped everything from feeling so _stifling_ , but it was right _over_ him. _Really,_ Phil?

Come to think of it- had he helped in the creation of his house, if the home of his earlier memories had a whole different layout? Had he chopped down wood, maybe, or made sure everything was safe, or did all the heavy lifting? Who had _designed_ it?

 _I wonder,_ he thought, _if we lived inside here before it was secure from monsters._

Now that was a thought. It was almost like- almost like something he remembered in flashes of sound, things he remembered in the dead of night while staring at the darkness of his room, expecting it to stare back at him-

* * *

“Phil,” Wilbur muttered, “night’s falling.”

“You think I haven’t noticed?” Phil sighed and stepped back, wiping at his forehead as he stared at their skeleton of a home. Nothing was properly up, not yet- even with three people, it was a monumental effort, one that wouldn’t be properly lit up or guarded until everything was done. Even fancy new _admin powers_ could only do so much, since Phil only knew the bare essentials- and it wasn’t like those powers were designed for building a home. “…We’ll have to go back underground for the night. Hole up where we dug out and get everything out when morning comes and we’re better rested.”

They’d probably be sleeping in that damned hole for another month, wouldn’t they?

“They could destroy what we’ve built,” Techno pointed out from where he was crouched, considering two different types of wood set before him. He hummed and picked the darker wood, hefting it up onto his shoulder. “It’d be a disaster.”

“You don’t know that, Techno. Wilbur- come over here, yeah? We need to take some of these things back to our temporary base, make sure everything’s alright, see if we can light up more of the area. Techno, can you bring in the door? We hadn’t planned on installing it today, anyways, and I don’t want the glass in it to get broken.”

“Fine.”

Techno groaned, dropped the wood down, and busied himself as Wilbur and Phil did the same, making the short trek to the base they had carved out from one of the hills and been using for the past month. Perhaps it was just because he hadn’t actually moved servers before to a regular, fresh start, but it was a hell of a lot more work than he had expected. Gathering resources, checking the area, making sure this exact spot in your new world was where you wanted to set up…and they _all_ had different ideas of what they should do.

At least _he_ hadn’t argued with Phil for a solid day about the way the house should be oriented, like Wilbur had. He swore his ears still rung from Wilbur’s arguments and Phil’s constant sighing.

The sun set on the horizon, glimmering over the ocean’s lazy waves. Techno considered it with a frown before he continued stacking up wooden planks closer to the build site, making sure they were all together and couldn’t be destroyed, even in the open. Base materials were resistant like that. Nearby, Wilbur and Phil were tacking some of the smaller chests they had drug out, pushing them back to the site- if opened, they’d be ruined.

In the distance, right at the edge of the overgrown forest at the back of the hills, he saw a glint of… _something_. His hand drifted to where a bow would have been strapped on his back- but he found nothing and cursed, quickly making sure the planks he had been carrying were fine before rushing back to their little base.

He had put the bow in there, right? If he remembered correctly, the bow and its quiver had to be right on his bed or right next to it or right-

 _There_. There they were. He checked everything else- axe, yes, sword- no, he didn’t need that extra weight- and strode out of the house, bow in hand and quiver secured. He ignored Phil’s _look_ as they passed each other and walked further away from the build site, where the lanterns and light sources they had set up petered out, leaving only growing darkness and watching eyes.

Yes, that was a monster he had seen. And knowing how the forest had shaped up over the past weeks, the monsters he had watched burn in the daylight and how many probably still lurked there- he plucked an arrow from the quiver, drew, and shot at what he could see after a second.

An arrow soared right back, missing him by a few feet.

 _Skeleton-_ fuck _, I need to get close-_

He hissed at the arrow that barely nicked him and started making his way forwards, shooting at the rare other monster coming out so early into the evening. He got a zombie, two spiders, a creeper- but that skeleton was a problem, and it was only growing more accurate with every shot it took.

He looked back behind him after the latest shot, frowning in the direction of the construction and of their base. They both appeared to be hurrying to get the last of their things safe and to get inside- good. It was best that they were safe, when they were the ones who knew more about what they wanted. Techno just wanted something warm.

An arrow whizzed past, and he stopped all pretenses of just advancing normally to put his bow on his back and rush in, cloak whipping around him as he sprinted to where the skeleton stood.

If he had to pick one at bowpoint, skeletons were the absolute _worst_ mob to fight. He loved hand-to-hand combat and regular weaponry, yes, but it was a pain in the ass to have to advance and duck and advance some more before he was finally able to rip their bow away from them, to snap it and tear their protected core out.

It always meant that he had to break some of those bones, that he had to smash into them with the blunter side of his axe before he could break that internal core where a heart would have been in a living person. No blood, _never_ any blood- but it took _time_ , and that was what always hurt someone in the end.

Not him. Never him, not after he figured out their deal, but it was always that they cost him on other matters. He broke its core, let the glowing substance spill out like luminescent yolk upon the falling bones, and spun around to _splat_ a behemoth of a spider that had jumped at him.

Another arrow flew past as he shook his axe out.

What a fucking night he would have, already exhausted from helping Phil build the house all day. _Fuck this, man._

Another hour, just enough to get through part of the horde that wanted them, and he’d go back. If everything was secure, they could just board up the entrance to where they slept in that hill and go back in for cleanup in the morning.

He just wished he didn’t have to sleep covered in guts to actually stay safe, wished that he didn’t have to wait until day to bathe in that damned stream a ten minute jog away, wished they had a proper water system and a bath, gods be damned, no amount of lavender would help him now that the mobs had finally taken root in the world-

* * *

Techno closed his eyes and let himself ride just above dozing as the bustle of the kitchen kept on. It wasn’t enough for him to truly sleep, but it was probably more true rest than he had gotten over the whole of the night, no matter how many memories clicked, no matter how many other recollections hazily wandered by. When he opened his eyes again, it was to find Tommy in front of him, two steaming mugs in hand.

“Up,” the kid demanded, wriggling his nose and motioning a bit with one of his hands for Techno to at least sit up properly.

What a brat. _(He loved this kid with all of his bloody, beating heart.)_

He took the mug with an idle hum and peered into it before taking a sip, welcoming the way that it, again, scalded his tongue just like _proper_ hot chocolate and tea. “Maybe a bit more honey,” he said thoughtfully, letting himself get more comfortable sitting on the couch. His legs rested underneath him, not quite crossed but more like they were off to the side, the mug making its way to a little table next to the couch to rest.

“I put _loads_ of honey in! It’s just way too hot for you to properly taste it!”

“Left it in too long, then.”

“Hey- no, I _didn’t!_ I left it in as long as I needed!”

“ _Far_ too long,” Wilbur called out, and Techno twisted his head, ignoring pain of past and present wounds to see him sliding into a chair at the dining table, plate of food in front of him. “And get your asses over here, Phil actually decided to make breakfast for once!”

“Like I did _yesterday_ , and the day _before_ , and-”

“Semantics, Phil, _semantics._ ”

“That’s- I don’t think that’s how that word is used?”

Techno couldn’t help but chuckle at Phil’s confused tone. It was a welcome distraction as he picked up his mug, tried not to clench it too badly as his wound pulsed, as he thought of hazy nights spent under an indigo sky, defending a home that was slowly being built from the ground up.

His mind was in two places, two wholly different worlds- but as he stood up and slowly moved to the dining table, as he saw Phil’s exasperated smile and the bounce in Tommy’s step and the pancakes that Wilbur was picking at, as he let that sense of family wash over him- he left the _then_ and came closer to the _now_.

…Huh. The pancakes in front of him even had chocolate chips in them.

_Score._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello. the chapter update schedule, starting with this chapter, will be every three days instead of every two. hope yall don't mind, but i need to make sure i keep ahead of schedule and don't fuck up the story. i feel. very bad about it but i hope yall understand. thank yall very much.
> 
> i'm. gonna go back to working on the story now
> 
> o/


	12. xii. i'm only honest when it rains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With enough time, the spider's bite becomes easier to handle. Phil gets philosophical, fishing in a storm. Techno contemplates the nature of a killer.
> 
> (Or: Before, he wasn't _soft_. He was _terrifying._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "neptune" by sleeping at last]

Eventually, Techno’s leash got longer.

The wound, unexpectedly enough, didn’t exactly let up- but that constant pain had lowered itself into a background hum instead of a scream at the forefront, and when asked about it, he could only really honestly tell them that it didn’t bother him as much.

“Does it hurt any less?”

…He couldn’t exactly answer that. It didn’t matter. Phil seemed to get it, even though Tommy and Wilbur were confused, and Phil reluctantly lengthened how far he could go without supervision, let him stay on the porch or accompany them on tasks outside of the house, provided he just watched.

“That bite,” Phil told him after a few days, “is something we still have to keep an eye on. Has it been easier to eat? I know that even though you kept it all down, you still looked like you were having trouble…”

“Saw through my disguise,” Techno grunted, and Phil just laughed. “…Yeah. Been better. Just don’t know when this venom’s gonna properly leave.”

“Well,” Phil said lightly, “at least it’s not getting infected.”

That had been that. Phil kept scouring databases through his modified communicator to try and figure it out, but- they just had to wait, in the end. It got better in increments. It didn’t leave, but it got more bearable.

Tommy was the only one who didn’t seem to shy away from asking probably invasive questions about the bite.

“So, like, how’d it get you? Get a good look at it?”

“No. It bit me as I was handling another mob and I got it right after. _Too hard to tell any differences in the dark._ ”

“Repeat that last one, big man? That was all in fuckin’. Piglin speak.”

“…Too hard to tell any differences in the _dark._ ”

“That last word, Mr. Blade?”

“…I will kill you.”

“Hey, hey, hey! Bit too far there, don’t you think?”

At least Techno was getting better with his words. It was a strange world that he lived in, language memory filtering back in without too much to nudge it. Harsh syllables and clicks of the tongue passed by, snorts full of meaning instead of a general annoyed feeling came back, and somehow- somehow- he couldn’t always process the difference between words in that language and regular human speak.

Something was fucking him over, he bet, some bit of faulty memory not clicking or something from that server holding over even here.

(Had he ever spoken in that piglin language, there, neither it or the human tongue fitting him like a glove? Had he just never noticed himself mixing things up, or something, and only human tongues had remained when Phil appeared?

He’d never know, wouldn’t he?)

Wilbur workshopped it with him, ran him through words as he beat out an idle rhythm on the dining table with his hands. They argued back and forth about things that neither of them seemed to fully grasp until Phil drug them apart, but there was only room for laughter there.

It was like trying to hunt treasure. Would this phrase he kept saying mean anything real? Would it unlock a treasure chest?

They focused on the present of those things, though, Techno and Tommy and Wilbur. Why would you talk about the past in truth when you were still worried about the wound that your sibling kept bandaged?

Phil, though- _he_ was the one Techno whispered worries to, shared memories recalled, theorized with even as it made his skin crawl. He was the one Techno went to with the worries that seemed most frivolous, in the end.

It was clear that Phil noticed that fact.

* * *

“You don’t exactly talk with Wil and Tommy too much about the past, huh?”

Techno swung his legs back and forth (back and forth, back and forth) from where they dropped down from the dock, not quite long enough to have his feet try and skim the water. He had no fishing rod in his hands, no cloak on his back- two sweaters sufficed in the mild chill- but he did have a large umbrella over his head, one of the ones that stood on their own that Phil had brought out the very second it had started properly raining.

Hah. He wasn’t going to get his cloak wet. That had gone straight back to the house when they went to go get the umbrella.

He considered the question posed by Phil, who sat right next to him under the umbrella’s cover. Unlike Techno, he had a fishing rod in his hand, one very different from those that he had seen him with before. It was well taken care of, the fishing line stronger than what he seemed to usually have on him, the hook shinier and harder. It had etchings that scratched at the back of his mind on it, carved out with a delicate touch.

 _Luck._ The gibberish stared right back at him. _Strength._ It was taunting him. _Intuition._

It was something very, very clearly made for storms like these, and he had to wonder if a regular fishing rod would break in these conditions.

But- Techno wasn’t there to fish. He was there to listen to the pouring rain and talk without the threat of Wilbur and Tommy overhearing, and he could only frown as he thought more about the question, letting it soak in deep as he curled and uncurled his toes.

Phil, in these closer quarters, smelled of dried roses.

“I do,” he said slowly, “But I don’t…hm.”

How could one answer that? It wasn’t exactly a question, but it had a world of implications behind it: _Do you not trust your brothers? Is there something wrong with them?_

_Is there something going on with you?_

“Take your time.” Phil murmured, bumping Techno’s shoulder softly with his. “Storm’ll be here for a few more hours yet, and after that you can just busy yourself by checkin’ on the garden.”

That was true. That was good. The mud would cling to his bare feet, would ground him. He could get dirt under his nails and tidy up the garden and be something more than himself.

There were still questions to be answered.

“I…I _do_ talk with them about it,” he repeated, hands clasped together with one thumb rubbing endless circles on the back of his other hand. “But…it’s harder. Better to talk about it with you instead of trying to talk about it with them and worry that they…noticed me spacing out. You know about it. They…they…”

_They don’t._

With Phil, those pauses, unknowable in length, were taken in stride. With the other two, he was pretty sure they’d worry on and on about him- Phil, what’s going on? Phil, is it because of that spider bite? Phil, how can we fix this?

He had been lucky that they hadn’t noticed it before, safe under the guise of injury or dozing or having his eyes closed. He had been very lucky. He didn’t _want_ any more of that worry.

“…Makes sense,” Phil said, watching his line move before he tugged at it and- ah, that had to just be some kelp or something. The hook came up empty. “You’ve been troubled by something lately, too.”

Techno froze.

“Think I haven’t fuckin’ noticed, eh?” He bumped shoulders again, clearly more in jest than in anger or full worrying mode. It made him blink- wouldn’t he normally be more worried? Wouldn’t he be holding his hands or something, or making some tea, or…what? Did he just like storms that much?

He looked back to the water pensively. “Maybe,” he muttered. “Not really important.”

“With you, especially how you’ve been recently- your mental health’s important, Techno. Really. You don’t have to tell me, not right now, but…I’m here to help. _We’re_ here to help. We love you, you know?”

He bit his tongue on the _not really-_ because they _did_ love him. They showed it all in their banter, in the way that they’d bump into him on their way past or worry over him after that spider bite that still sat there angrily on his arm, making its presence known by the second. They showed it in late night talks and lazy songs and in their arguments and in the way that there were extra chocolate chips in a pancake for him.

The wind picked up, but not quite enough to send rain sideways into their small almost-dry bubble of calm. It whipped up the ocean, though, enough for Techno to pull his legs up at a minor spray of water and cross them.

They sat there. The minutes crawled by. Phil’s little bobber on the line swayed with the waves. There were no bites, not just yet.

“I don’t think I believe you,” he said, flat and almost _ashamed_ , “when you talk about me and fighting.”

Phil stayed silent, but it was clear that he was listening.

(That was what he had always liked about him, wasn’t it? He had noticed it back when Phil had found him. He could speak, could comfort and heal and whisper, but he was the best listener out of them all when it came down to it.)

“My memories are coming back. Not all at once, but- faster, now.” If he thought about it, it was almost like they were bubbles rising to the surface of water, faster and faster as air escaped from that past self down at the bottom, returning to him. “…Maybe because you’re all here.” He sighed. “But…I don’t. I still don’t understand what I like- _liked-_ about fighting,” he murmured, “even when I remember things about protecting someone, or training Tommy or- or any number of things.”

There was a library in his head, almost, with the spines removed from all the books, with them being haphazardly shoved into little spaces as soon as he got them. If he looked in one, he’d remember cutting down all who came to face him in one battle, watching them fall to their demise on islands that hung in a circle in the sky. If he watched another, he could see himself in an arena, waiting for the next challenger to come, blood on his hands but no wounds to be seen.

If he looked again, he was throwing himself in front of his family to take a hit. Plunging a sword into a zombie, a spider, keeping them away from a half-built home. Running into a tunnel to hunt down his siblings and bring them to safety.

If he just looked-

* * *

_One down. Ten others to go._

Techno didn’t look at his sword, but he looked at the body that was left behind- an efficient twist and it was all laid out for him to see, all blood and guts and gore. It made him breathe in, the scent slapping at his nose, and it was all he could do to grin further and continue on.

His sword met another foe. It won. The third target managed to land a scratch on his cheek, but they were sent tumbling into the void-

-and another set of hands hands pushed him violently into the ether. He laughed as he fell, laughed like a crazy man, and the cloak on him whipped in the wind as he threw a pearl with a practiced hand.

_Thought you could get me, huh?_

They were the next to go. There was a pleasure in popping back into being above them, all armored up against his armorless form, and a delight that was found in watching them be unable to hack through his cloak. It’d bruise, sure, but he had personally made sure that no regular blade could tear through it.

“Blood for the blood god,” he called out _, laughing,_ and imagined that the crowds that had to be watching were in a frenzy, cheering him on from wherever they stood. He plunged his sword into a crack in the armor, pushed and twisted and pulled.

It wasn’t enough.

_Fine. If a sword won’t do-_

“Hands will do just fine,” he breathed out, and the person didn’t know what hit them, staring into blank, dark red eyes, into an outfit covered with blood and gore. “They’ll do just fine.”

Twist the helmet off. In the absence of a blade, an easy way to stop an enemy would be to go for the eyes.

Done.

Now the neck, if he could get the chestplate to shift _just so-_

An arrow whizzed by.

_There._

Neck snapped.

He lurched upwards, grabbing his sword and taking an axe from the downed victim, and turned to grin at the newcomer. They stood in front of him. They shook. They couldn’t even aim their bow correctly.

A newcomer, he guessed. Perhaps they preferred to shoot their opponents into the void rather than face the reality that wasn’t scrubbed clean by censors, the inner workings of people reduced to red smears on screens and filtered to hell and back.

Techno licked his lips, slow and silent. Examined his hands, red and nasty and viscous, as they held a weapon in each hand. His heart beat loudly in his chest, excited and echoing and the background to his panting.

“Say,” he called out to the next person that had come to face them, meeting their terrified gaze, “have you ever heard of the Blade?”

They didn’t know what hit them.

_I am your worst nightmare. I am the lightning within this cacophonous symphony of combat. I am the only one allowed to sit on any throne in this land. When you see what I truly am, you will never see anything more beautiful. Gaze upon what I have orchestrated and despair, for this is the Blood God that you have only seen the false reality of for so long._

_Are you still a fan, now? Am I still your idol?_

He had never felt more alive.

* * *

He had to wonder how long the memories passed by. Phil was still silent. The rain was still pouring. Had the direction changed?

If he looked back in that library, he was stringing a bow.

He looked again, and he was farming. Again, and he was fighting. Again, and he was drowning with the weight of everything he still didn’t know, everything that tried to cling to him and instead slid off.

“…I just want to farm.” He went back to rubbing circles on his hand, anxious and refusing to let his breathing catch. _Don’t think of what you just remembered, don’t think of it, don’t think of it_. “I don’t want to fight, not really. But I- It felt like I _liked_ it, in the memories, of beating people and asking for more to come. I _liked_ it and I trained you all to be _better_ at fighting and killing and it doesn’t matter that you say I’m a protector, Phil, if that past me just lived for that blood and loved the adrenaline and-”

“Techno, can you- can you wait, just a second?”

His mouth _clicked_ shut on its own. He stared down at his trembling hands.

An arm wrapped around him, solid and secure. Thunder crashed in the distance. “You might not remember this, not just now,” he started, “but we’ve talked about this, Techno.” He chuckled. “We’ve…we’ve had this conversation a lot, actually. It sort of feels like it’s an annual thing? Not in the last year or two, but…you’re hard on yourself, Techno, you really are. You always have been.”

 _Really_.

“Really,” Phil said. Fuck, had he said that out loud? “You’re always going to have adrenaline during a fight. There’s always going to be that rush just because that’s what bodies _do._ They like to pump you up and they want to make sure you get through that and win because it wants you to _survive_. Well- you want _you_ to survive, I guess. It’s just that the body recognizes that.”

He sighed, and when Techno actually looked over he had a mimicry of that crooked smile from so long ago, back when they were across a fire and Techno was only thinking of potatoes. “In the moment, it’s _everything_. And that happens to everyone- you, me, Wil- and _especially_ Tommy, gods, he’s just an adrenaline junkie of a kid. If you just remember the fights, not what surrounds it…then you’re not getting the full picture, are you?”

“But the fights are what _matter_.”

“Don’t act like you don’t have a brain, Techno. Context is _everything_ , and you’re missing that for so much of your life while the biggest bits of impact are what remain. Techno, whenever you’ve come to me about it before you’ve gone ‘ _Phil, does this make me a monster? Am I doing this for selfish reasons?’_ You’ve talked to me about it before. You really _have,_ Techno. I’m not just doing a bit.”

…Huh.

“Sure, not all fights are in the context of protecting. And protecting isn’t all of who you are. But in all the respawnable servers, Hypixel, Mineplex, others- people go into those fights with the expectation of there being a _winner_ and a _loser._ They have it for sport, and it’s lighthearted. They don’t think of it as them being a monster. But they didn’t exactly grow up the same as you did, you know? A lot of them came from densely populated worlds with no thought of dying to something in the wilderness, even though death meant, well. Dying permanently. A lot of their fighting- and a lot of dying- is either against sicknesses or against each other.”

“…Have I been to one of those servers before? One of the…ones that are regular but…have cities? And nations, and such?”

 _Nice topic change._ It was obvious that Phil, as he followed that thread of thought, was mostly just entertaining him for a second or two.

“I think I took you to one when you and Wil were young, the first time you visited another server,” Phil said, and let out a little bit of a laugh. “The city where I was born and my parents were from. Wilbur found it fascinating and you- hah, you hated it. Too much noise, you said, too much grime, too many people. Most of the other big servers you went to at least had subworlds- but the traditional servers don’t do that.”

…It didn’t exactly make sense, but he’d take Phil at his word.

“So I went there to get you two some vaccinations, because that place had been around long enough to get vaccinations for most things you could think a kid would need, growing up- even vaccinations for things that would matter in a small, lonely place in the middle of nowhere.”

“…They must be…weird.”

“They are,” Phil said, and at that point Techno had stopped caring about their previous conversation. “They care about things like _politics,_ they have proper systems of currency, they throw their kids off into private worlds if they have enough money to care about the best schooling. They throw their kids into places like Hypixel if they want a vacation, or if they’re getting good at an extracurricular activity, or…whatever.” He waved a hand. “Complicated stuff. Was how I grew up before I went and decided that I liked providing for myself more.”

“Sounds…dumb.”

“Maybe to you and Wil and Tommy,” he teased, “but I grew up there- and I’m not going to let you try to change the conversation more than you already have, buddy. I’m far too smart for that.”

_Fuck._

“But…that’s the kind of world so many more people grew up in. So fighting’s kind of- fantasized. Fetishized? Whatever the correct term is. They’ll say that fighting’s not good unless you’re doing in in a place where people can come back, when it’s all for sport or fun or show, and anywhere outside of those special servers like Hypixel, fights can have serious consequences. Death. Permanent injury. You know, why duel in a place where you won’t come back when you could just hop to the closest place with those protections and duke it out?”

“…”

“But they still… _romanticize_ fighting. They like the people that have their catchphrases, that kill flashy, that get someone in an interesting way rather than _brutal_ and _quick_ and _effective_. They like the honorable road and not the way that actually gets results when it comes down to it in real life. And that was where you’d ask me _Phil, is it bad that I fight simpler than those people, is it bad that I enjoy fighting this way? Should I do it differently, am I in the wrong for feeling like I’m going to throw up once I’m out of a fight?_ ”

“I think you’re confusing what you remember,” Phil murmured, “for those memories being all there is. Confusing what you feel in the _moment_ for what you had to have surely felt all that time. There’s a facade to keep up, one where you tell people that you fit in in a public space like that, and you can like parts of it but feel disgusted afterwards. I’m not much of a fighter, not really. It’s a relief to make sure the mobs won’t get to us, but in another server without terrible consequences- I’m still terrified of dying, I still feel dirty afterwards for ending someone’s life, even for a moment, because what if I actually had killed them? I think…you never really told me much, not any details about what you think deep down, but I think you just never wanted to lose. Never wanted to lose and end up losing again _later,_ when it mattered the most.”

“I don’t really understand,” Techno said after a long moment, thunder echoing as a jolting backdrop, and that was the only thing he really _could_ say. His mind still mulled over it all, turning over every stone to find directions to another stone on it, and it was all just an endless loop. “I don’t. I really don’t.”

How could that former self even be willing to partake in such fighting? Wasn’t it better to stay in a smaller space and just fight monsters, if you really had to? Why cut people down and see- and see-

“You don’t have to, not just yet,” Phil returned and interrupted his thoughts, just as soft as Techno’s voice had been. “But just keep in mind that you’re more than what you remember, okay? The Techno of the past was just as happy to do random tasks or busy work or mine or chop down wood or whatever as you are to farm. You liked to read. You liked to argue stupid, minute points and laugh at us. The quiet moments, the contextual moments, are just the ones that come last. They’re the glue that holds it all together.”

Techno closed his eyes, listened to Phil, listened to the rain beat against the umbrella. Tried to think of _glue_ and of _bonds_ and of _remembrance._

Thunder crashed again. Even with so much of his life gathering in his hands, Techno could only think about how much was slipping by, just barely out of his reach to comprehend.

Even as who he once was got clearer and clearer, that figure at the bottom of his mind seemed determined to swim down even deeper than before.

He wanted to find it out. He had _promised_ it to himself, no matter how happy or not he was with its eventual end.

Phil’s line tugged once, twice, three times. Techno let out a shaky breath as Phil cursed and let go of him to start reeling the line in.

What was someone who had lost who they were? What was someone- _who_ was someone when they had to pick up the pieces of their life while living the role of a total stranger? Were the pieces all glued back in the right spot, or were they superglued to where it was thought they belonged only to end up with a broken piece of artwork, half of its shards all stuck in the wrong places?

What kind of a restoration would he be, when it was all said and done?

Techno couldn’t shake the thought that he would only be a patchwork shell of a person.

_Are you a monster, or are you just humane enough to choke on what you barely know you’ve done?_

The storm raged on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably the chapter i'm most proud of, besides 1, 2, and 4! hope yall liked it!
> 
> and it's a shame i can't post it earlier in the day, but i'm at work..... ;;w;;
> 
> have a lovely night, everyone! see ya in ~three days!


	13. xiii. so a boyish constitution / gets to lead a revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot to be concerned about, when Techno's not solely focusing on himself. Techno investigates something that's been bugging him lately. Wilbur...spills the beans in a bit of a major way.
> 
> (Or: In what kind of world do you throw yourself away so carelessly as a child soldier?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "false disposition" by ferry ft. vflower]

“You hang out with Phil a lot more than you do us.”

Techno let an eye open from where he was laid out on the couch just in time to see Wilbur drop onto the other side, moving Techno’s legs just so he could sprawl out himself and stare at Techno. His eyes weren’t heavy, but they were bright with an odd kind of intensity. He frowned at Wilbur.

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Why?” Wilbur tilted his head, and it struck him just how much his older brother looked like an owl, blinking at him in an echo of his own thoughts. “Do you just remember more about him? Is it because he was the one to find you? Is it because Tommy’s a little shit? Like, I know it can’t be because of me. Of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed wryly before he sighed, shook his head, and let his other eye open, gaze drifting to where their television sat.

(How did televisions even work? There was nobody else in the world. Something in the back of his head murmured something about interworld connections and admin knowhow, but it really didn’t seem like what he knew of televisions would allow it. Even if it seemed they were mostly used to rewatch movies and shows that they had in a physical form.)

“Of course…?” When his eyes flicked over, he could see Wilbur’s eyebrows raised, an obvious question lingering in them. _Elaborate?_

“Phil found me first,” he said, reluctantly pulling himself fully into the conversation and giving it some proper attention. “And he’s not… _pushy_. You and Tommy have been- better about it, you have, but it’s just…easier to spend time with him.”

Wilbur seemed to consider that explanation for a second before he snorted, before he crossed his arms behind his head and let one of his eyebrows arch further up. “You just want it to be quieter,” he said. “Well. _I_ can be quiet.”

Techno considered just telling him that even his presence could be a bit like towering over him, but, well. That didn’t seem like it would be a good idea at all. Either way, it seemed like Wilbur just…wanted to spend more time with him.

They always wanted to spend more time with him, but even though the topic of the conversation felt a bit heavy-handed, the sentiment behind it felt genuine. Not the kind of pushy that would make him shrink up or want to snap out.

It was a nice change of pace.

“Sure,” he murmured. “Quiet. Cool.”

“Did Phil or Tommy really tell you what was going on with Tommy and I, back when we weren’t here?” Wilbur’s eyes were sun-bright, shining with a heightened intensity that automatically made Techno regret saying _sure_. His voice was quiet, but his presence was anything _but_. He burrowed a bit further into his cloak, wrapped around him in soothing lavender. Ran his thumb along a seam.

“A bit,” he allowed, letting that uncomfortable feeling settle and stay around him. Sure, it would be better if he got used to it and didn’t stay on edge, but _damn_ if it wasn’t awkward to have this conversation that he didn’t know the path of. “You’ve talked, ah, a bit about it too. Something about a revolution. Betrayals. You won?”

The intensity was dialed back a bit. Wilbur grinned, clearly prideful- with a thin layer of bitterness running underneath it- and ran a hand through his hair. “Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’ with a bit more enthusiasm and a wink. Techno wanted to become the couch, at this point, but alas. “You’re speaking to the President-”

Wilbur paused.

_So the explanation goes awry this early, huh?_

“You’re speaking to the _former_ President of L’manburg, here,” he said with a soft pound to his chest. “And you’ve _also_ spoken to my Vice President, Tommy. Small world, huh?”

“Some…fancy titles you got there,” Techno mumbled, very slowly trying to look for a way out of the situation. “…You’re, um. Very passionate about it?”

Wilbur froze. Techno could practically watch as he replayed that moment in his mind, mouthing his words before he groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered. “Just- some _stuff_ happened with it recently.” He had a bad feeling about this. “And, hah, funny thing, you know, we were going to ask for _your_ help, especially since we heard when you won that war, thought you had some free time. We were going to ask you maybe a month after you were done! Give you some time, you know?”

…He _really_ didn’t like where this was going.

“And then we realized that, hey, none of us had talked with you recently, you know? Or saw you. Or knew anyone _else_ that had talked with you.”

Techno’s mind was drawn to that broken piece of machinery, the little shell of a former communicator stored in a drawer in his room. He hummed. “And you hadn’t. Talked with me. But.” He carefully avoided Wilbur’s eyes, let his view drift to where his legs laid across Wilbur’s lap. “…Whenever you two have…talked about it- about…about your nation with me, you’ve. Avoided things. And it feels like they’re _big_ things.”

“…Phil would, uh, maybe get mad at us if we talked about them and he ended up figuring things out past what he already has?”

_…Was that a question or a statement?_

Techno’s eyebrows raised of their own accord. He struggled to get them back down and his face back to that poker face he had on lock most of the time, but it was _very_ clear by the time his face turned to normal that Wilbur had noticed.

“Uh- not in like, uh, the _you fucked up, I’m coming for your asses to drag you back home_ kind of way. Just the, uh… _you’re going about this the wrong way_ kind of deal. Yeah.”

“…So it’s fine if I tell Phil about this-”

“No! Um.” Wilbur cleared his throat. “Maybe…maybe wait until _I_ do? Preferably after Phil’s had one of his favorite meals or drinks or is just in a great, wonderful mood that can’t possibly be shaken by anything I have to say?”

He locked eyes with Wilbur, judgment crystal clear in his eyes even though he barely understood the situation. Wilbur gulped, long and slow. “Maybe I will,” Techno said slowly. “Depends.”

“Depends on…”

“Depends on what you _tell me,_ ” Techno said. Let his eyebrows raise a hair. Watched his brother sweat and fidget like there was some terrible secret waiting to escape out from under his tongue, loose and free as a bird. “What could _possibly_ go wrong with revolution, betrayals, and managing a nation only to…lose it, in the vaguest terms.”

“When you put it like _that_ …”

“I think it’d be nice to know what you keep skirting around.” His voice did not stop. It did not stutter. It was steady, and it was heavy, and it was patient as only a predator in wait could be.

Wilbur would _talk._

“Mm. Well. So, it all started when I joined this new server that Tommy was on maybe a month before you started that whole potato war, and it was managed by a new friend of ours, this admin named Dream- _crazy_ good at fighting, I thought he had trained with you, to be honest, but he’s just way too flashy of a fighter for that…”

He settled in, eyes open and watching Wilbur with a silence that only made Wilbur quieter.

There was not one memory that faded in, as focused as he was on the story.

Of _course_ it had layers.

* * *

Of course his brothers had blatantly put their lives on the line for something as foolish as revolution.

Of _course_.

* * *

“ _Tommy._ ”

Techno leaned against the doorframe of the boy’s room, looking at him with an unreadable, unknowable gaze. When Tommy finally looked back from where he was slouched in his chair- communicator out, fingers dancing as he flipped through whatever was on it- Techno watched his face bloom into surprise.

“ _Heeey!_ Decided to visit your favorite brother on your own for once, eh?” He seemed to puff up in pride a little, preening in the light, and Techno refused to acknowledge the whisper of regret that passed over him for not approaching Tommy on his own in the past few weeks. He refused. It wouldn’t do anything.

Instead, he let his brother preen a little more before he lifted up the mugs in his hands and nodded to them. Tommy’s eyes lit up.

“ _Ooh_ , what is it- hot cocoa? Honey milk? Coffee?”

“You’re still saying honeyed milk wrong,” Techno said dryly, “but…no. It’s tea.”

“ _Eugh-_ ”

“It’s _tea,_ ” he repeated. “ _Lavender_ tea. And you’re going to drink it and…and have a _chat_ with me.”

Perhaps he should have expected the incredulous, suspicious little look that Tommy shot at him. Thankfully, he had a counter in the form of his own utterly unimpressed poker face, easily able to cover up the pounding in his ears, easily able to distract Tommy from the way that the arm with the bite shook, holding one of the mugs. He shut the door neatly with his foot and passed one mug to Tommy, who scrunched his face up after a tentative sip- and then spluttered.

“That’s fucking _hot,_ Techno, what the hell!”

He stared blankly at Tommy. There had been steam from it, how would it _not_ be hot? And why didn’t Tommy just down it like Techno preferred to?

“…Sorry?”

“You’re not- ugh- _whatever._ ” Tommy let his chair spin as Techno shuffled over to perch on his bed, cloak wrapped around him almost like a very fancy blanket. “I mean, you want to talk to me, great- but…about _what?_ ”

“Wilbur,” he said, picking his words as careful as he could manage to, “told me about…what you two have been doing. For the past…” He hummed. “Year? Year and a half and some, some change? Two years?” It didn’t matter what his mind was hazily telling him the span was. It had been going on for a while at this point, and _that_ was what was important.

He let his gaze settle back on Tommy. Let himself take a long, slow sip of his tea. Tommy had frozen, and wasn’t that funny? Wasn’t it interesting, how after a mention of their brother, of time, Tommy had gone still? “About L’manberg,” he clarified to the kid, even though he was absolutely sure that the two of them were on the same page. “Or…Manberg. However it’s called.”

“ _L’manberg,_ ” Tommy muttered, and was that a curious little note of bitterness there that he picked up on? Sure, Wilbur had talked and talked and _talked_ about what had gone on, but it wasn’t like he could delve into Tommy’s psyche for Techno. He had mostly given facts that were tinged in Wilbur-colored bias for Techno to chew on, had given the broadness of his side combined with the specifics of the self. The view of one side versus the other.

_L’manberg. Refusing to acknowledge and respect changes made by the new leader of the nation you then had to abandon._

In Wilbur’s crash course on politics, small-server history, and their stakes in it, Techno had come to one realization among many: Governments seemed to be very, _very_ flawed. How many people were on that server, anyways?

“I’m not very qualified to try and…admonish you for anything you’ve done. Especially recently,” Techno murmured. Took another sip of his tea after his voice grew hoarse. Even _now,_ his voice turned back and forth between a quiet smoothness and a hoarse, raspy overtone. “But. I wanted to talk with you about what happened. Ask you about what you did.”

“Where are you going with this, Techno.”

Techno didn’t know. He knew that he wanted to know more, but what was his purpose in it? What made him actually want to breathe in and out and go through all of the things that felt _off_ about the story that Wilbur had told him, that nudged something in his mind that demanded answers above all else?

Why was he pursuing this avenue of questioning rather than trying to uncover more of his memories?

“I want,” he said slowly, gingerly, “to make sure that. Everything is alright. And that you didn’t drop something important to come here.”

_Something more important than me. There are a lot of things more important than a husk of a person who doesn’t know who he is, Tommy, and you’ve talked a lot of circles around me about that server._

_That ends now. Hopefully._

_Did you leave your life behind to stay here and watch a sad excuse of a stranger-not-quite-brother try to match the mold you know?_

“Don’t even _try_ to imply,” Tommy hissed, low and quiet and just _this_ side of vicious, something that caught Techno off guard in a way that he hadn’t been by Phil’s stillness, by Wilbur’s flat words, “that something’s more important than making sure my _brother_ is safe and okay. If I didn’t think you were important, if I just said that you were hopeless I- I-” He just shook his head. “Don’t fucking _talk_ like that, Techno. Don’t _think_ like that. _Fuck._ ”

“Tommy,” he said, pushing forward and holding his mug firmly, driving right past those statements, “why did you put yourself into a bow duel to the death to decide the fate of a revolution?”

There was a terrible, ungodly amount of weight behind those words. There was a stark harshness to them, to Techno staring Tommy down and asking him why he’d willingly walk to his death against an opponent Wilbur had told him was almost like pre-memory loss Techno in skill, _especially_ with a bow. His mind went back to flashes of insight, to shadows of the past- teaching Tommy the proper way to hold a bow, how to properly bind and fletch arrows, to test that they would fly correctly.

To test that they’d hit their fucking mark.

_Why did my teaching fail you? Was I that bad at whatever I had done back then?_

_What matters to you that much, to throw your life away so willingly when you didn’t grow up in a respawn-set world?_

Tommy had clearly done the calculating on what laid behind that question as well. His face was pale, shocked, eyes wide. _Good._ Techno gestured to the tea, stared, and made sure he at least had a good few sips before he allowed Tommy to respond.

“…I had to do it,” he whispered into the quiet, the mug in his hands trembling just as much as Techno’s threatened to do, given enough time. “I had to do it, Techno, _okay?_ You wouldn’t understand.” A pause. “You wouldn’t.”

“I won’t understand,” he responded in kind, “I can’t understand any of this, really, unless you. Explain it to me. Did this… _Dream_ put you up to it?”

A shadowed figure. An ominous figure, familiar in how it loomed across his current thoughts.

_An enemy?_

Tommy laughed, that selfsame bitterness shining through yet again as he tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. He followed his brother’s gaze, found a regular ceiling, and looked back down to see the way his teeth almost tried to bare themselves at nothing. At thin air. “Techno, it’s been almost a _year_ since that war happened. Does it really matter?”

“Yes.” _You were a child._

“No, it doesn’t.” _It happened. Move on._

“Tommy.” _Tommy._

“It _doesn’t!_ ” Tommy sat back up properly, took a defiant sip of the still-hot tea, and glared venom-tipped daggers at him. “That was our place in that world, okay? And Dream- the stupid damn admin- was trying to fucking take that _away_ from us! Trying to tear us apart and invalidate where we chose to live and build and stay and he wanted _everything_ under his control, even though he has control over the whole fucking world itself! He wanted the land! He wanted my discs! If he would have actually fucking backed down under the results of a duel, I’d have done anything to get him to back off!”

 _…You_ did _try the duel. You lost. Besides-_

“He didn’t have to keep his word, Tommy,” Techno murmured. “If you had won he could have still stormed your place. Burned it down, torn it down block by block, and from. From what Wil tells me, it would’ve been easy.”

“If he really wanted to be a prick, Techno, he could have- _would_ have- done that after I gave my most prized possessions to him. I _knew_ what I was doing with that duel.”

He hadn’t seen it, hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been there to stare in horror just as Wilbur recounted, there to watch as Tommy fell to the ground and dissolve into the ether after a long, horrifying minute or two.

He hadn’t been there to watch the life drain from Tommy’s eyes.

He wondered if it had truly been worth it.

Sure, he had been revived, saved only by the strange merits of a small server having respawning capabilities. But wasn’t Wilbur’s shaking hands and broken words and haunted eyes enough to dissuade him from a rash duel? Wasn’t Tommy satisfied with a regular fight?

Could it have all been changed if the Techno of the past had pushed training just a bit further, if he had pulled his head out of his ass and went to go help his brothers instead of- instead of farming _potatoes_ -

But farming potatoes was the core of who he was. It was understandable that he couldn’t be there for months, and that he had been lost for an unknown amount of time afterwards, as time in that place warped and shifted.

But it didn’t excuse his behavior. Didn’t excuse him not preparing Tommy enough.

It also didn’t excuse Tommy’s stupid decisions. A _child_ , the second-in-command of wartime.

Didn’t excuse Wilbur. Didn’t excuse Tommy.

He hated this so, so much. Why was he having this talk, again?

Right. Because he loved this rash child.

“You _didn’t,_ ” he said roughly, downing the rest of his lavender tea in a few large gulps before wiping at his mouth and locking eyes with this stupid kid. “You _didn’t_ know what you were doing, Tommy, and we’re all to. To blame. I’m to blame. You made a bad decision but I wasn’t even able to back you up indirectly.”

A pause.

“But you still _endangered yourself,_ Tommy,” he murmured, and that veil of disappointment, or anger, or _whatever_ the hell had colored his voice before was gone. Null and void. Only a quiet thread of devastation weaved through his voice and shone through, something painfully vulnerable and scared. It was enough for Tommy to notice and shut his mouth from whatever argument he had been about to make. “I just wish I knew _why_. I wasn’t there. I don’t know _why_. But- but- you’re my brother. And Wilbur’s told me enough that I just want to scream that I couldn’t fight the battles that needed to be fought.”

He clenched his fists.

“And,” he said, voice cracking, continuing on no matter how hoarse and cracked it sounded, “ _and_ , Tommy, the worst part is that I don’t even _want_ to fight battles. And I don’t remember much, I don’t remember so, so much- but I don’t think there’s any way that if you had fallen there, if you hadn’t gotten up- if Wilbur hadn’t made it through it all, if you hadn’t, if neither of you had, and it was only Phil that could help me- I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for the rest of my life.”

Silence fell. Techno couldn’t bear to look at Tommy any more, leaning forward and covering his face with his jittering hands. It didn’t matter that it left him mildly dizzy, poison still not having released him from its chokehold of a grip just yet, but he could feel tears rising.

He couldn’t cry. He _couldn’t._ That just wasn’t who he _was_ , a part of him deep down murmured, but couldn’t Tommy see how much this had affected him?

If things had gone wrong, would Tommy and Wilbur not ever have been there to help him after Phil found him? Would Techno never get to say a proper goodbye? Would he have been a shell of himself, even more than he currently was, and forever be that way?

Would Wilbur and Tommy have…have…

Arms wrapped around him, and Techno felt a choking gasp leave him as his own arms came down, clinging to the person in front of him like a lifeline. Tommy seemed to be on the verge of tears himself, hugging Techno as tightly as he could, and- and-

Both of them were scared shitless at the thought, weren’t they?

Techno had failed Tommy. Tommy, in a way, had failed Techno. Had failed himself, even more. Part of a house over, and Wilbur was part of that chain of blame. They were all fuckups, just like how Wilbur also clearly blamed himself for letting Tommy even go into that situation.

Phil, if he ever found out the details that ran through Techno’s mind, child-backed revolution and duels to the death and, much later, an exile much harsher than Tommy and Wilbur’s honeyed words suggested- he would surely be staring at his hands and wondering what kind of blood was on his own hands from it all.

“I love you,” Tommy was mumbling, “I love you, I _swear_ I’m not that dumb, I just _had_ to, I swear, I’d never do it if I wasn’t prepared for the consequences, I wouldn’t do it if I could die forever-”

“ _Never_ throw yourself into something like that again,” Techno gasped, holding him close and shaking, shaking, _shaking_ himself apart. “Phil needs you. _Wilbur_ needs you.”

_I need you._

(Wilbur curled up in the hallway, side leaning against the door as he listened, as he let his hands stay deathly still in his lap. Phil was busy cleaning out the worst of the monsters that night.)

The moon hung gracefully over the barely cloudy evening, full and luminescent.

Techno and Tommy fell asleep to the gentle scent of lavender, a cloak thrown haphazardly over them both as they sprawled out across Tommy’s small bed, whispers to each other about Tommy’s stupid decisions long gone quiet.

It was the best sleep Techno had gotten in weeks, even with his inability to totally fit on the bed with Tommy there, too.

He’d keep his family safe. He had to. He had to.

(Perhaps he would make this Dream pay one day for laying a hand on his brother. For murdering him with a shot gone true.

Perhaps. _Perhaps_.)

He _had_ to, and that would be something that he would strive for with every broken fucking atom in his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is most likely posted while i'm at work, so hello from past exceed! this was prepped a little early, since i feel so bad that ch12 was posted a bit later than i wanted it to be. i hadn't expected working that day. (edit: i ended up fucking staying home from work because of a shitty stomach fuck this man)
> 
> hope everyone's great! if you play ffxiv, happy patch day a few days ago, the story's great! if you don't, well- you're cool too! don't suck your life away with fic and games like me!
> 
> is anyone going for a yearly writing goal for 2021? i'm aiming to join a yearround group and work on having a more consistent writing schedule! here's to writing good!


	14. xiv. watch and wait and work until it all falls down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a body able to handle more challenges, Techno tries to decide what course to take in his meandering path of remembering. Wilbur proposes a plan. Phil isn't paid in enough hugs to mediate any arguments.
> 
> (Or: It's very easy to unintentionally view something the wrong way after you give an offhand piece of a plan to someone, really.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title is from "from the ground up" by laura shigihara]

“What would help me remember?”

Techno tossed a potato up and down, lazily letting it pass back and forth between his hands before he set it down with the pile at his feet. Wilbur sat a few yards away, going over and over the backing to some of his more experimental songs, not singing but instead humming idly along. It was a lazy, quiet day, and he could only be grateful that the passage of another week and a half had let the pain of the strange spider’s bite settle into a dull ache.

Techno hummed flatly, considered the pile of potatoes, and went back to harvest a few more to make the pile a bit bigger before he finished gathering them for the day.

“Mm. Whaddya mean, Techno?”

He looked over to see Wilbur watching him, the strumming of guitar strings gone silent. His brother eyed him for a second, clearly waiting for his answer.

“…What,” he emphasized a bit helplessly, “ would help me remember more? It’s…I can’t go forever with memories just being… _triggered_ by something, or- or- not everything coming back.”

 _The context to everything matters,_ Phil had told him that day on the dock, rain just barely outside of their bubble. _Context, Techno, context._

He sighed and shook his head, clearly unhappy with his progress. It had been- how long had it been, again, since Phil had found him? A month, maybe a month and a half before Tommy and Wilbur found out, and at least a month and a half to two and a half months had passed since then- but it could just be his faulty fucking memory.

 _At least two and a half months,_ he thought, _and I haven’t made any progress that’s actually remarkable._

“It just feels like something’s _stalling_ in my head,” he muttered, “and I _want_ to remember. I _do_. But I’m not…the best at retaining information, I guess, and worse at picking what I have. Even with memories. It fucking _sucks._ ”

“Hear, hear.” Wilbur let his hands move on their own for a bit, slowly letting a thoughtful, pensive melody drift out. Techno knelt down to start gathering the piled potatoes into a heavy duty sack, cloak pushed out of the way so he could work easier. “Any ideas so far from the great Techno?”

“…There’s a reason I asked you for help, Wil.”

“So…no?”

“….Maybe one or two ideas.”

“Hit me with ‘em.”

Techno let himself fall silent as he crouched down in the dirt, making sure to stack the potatoes neatly in the sack even with their irregular shapes. Dirt had made a home under his fingernails, dark and unstoppable no matter how much he wanted to clean them as he worked. It caked his hands, not _quite_ like mud but still annoying enough for him to pause and try to rub some off of his hands.

…He was stalling, wasn’t he.

“The first idea,” he said, halting and hesitant and almost cringing at the thought, “was to… _force_ myself to remember by, uh, similar stuff to what’s helped so far. Stressful situations. Getting sick. Getting nearly hurt. Try and provoke memories that I’d think were important. It’s…not all that great,” he admitted, and Wilbur gave a soft snort that said _no shit, Techno_. “Try knowing what would be important and how to get yourself in a situation to remember when you’ve, uh. Already lost those memories.”

“Hm. The second?”

“…You’re not going to like this one.”

“I didn’t really like your first one, and there’s not much that’s totally _worse_. Shoot, potato boy.”

“…Um. The second idea, sort of, uh, an offshoot of the first, is to. Um. Have as many near-death experiences and deadly encounters with things like, uh, venomous spiders and zombie hordes. Enough encounters to just shock me into remembering.”

The guitar strumming fell absolutely silent. Not even an idle tap on the guitar itself from a fingernail remained.

“You really _weren’t_ trying to oversell me on how much I’d hate that one,” Wilbur said, and sounded amazed. Sounded like he was stuck in sheer _awe_ at the audacity of Techno’s statement. The lack of music lingered as he clearly tried to process just how _much_ he hated it. Techno couldn’t stop the way his face heated up in shame, in belated, terrifying horror.

“We can- move on-”

“Oh, I don’t _think_ so,” came Wilbur’s delighted voice, high and chipper and razor-light. Techno risked a glance just to see his eyes boring into his, sharp as a knife. He looked away with a gulp. “You _do_ know how idiotic that is, right, brother dearest? Especially after ranting about how Tommy nearly fucked himself over to me before you went to talk to him, or listening to me gush about Dream’s world or just seeing how _worried_ we were- and _are_ \- about you? About that fucking _spider bite?_ You _do_ know that if you die here, you die _forever,_ right?”

“I didn’t intend to actually follow _through_ on it,” he muttered. “It was just a thought, it’s stupid, I know-”

“ _Clearly_ not just a thought.” Wilbur looked like he wanted to continue in on it, shoulders straightened and face set when Techno side-eyed him, but he deflated a second later. “…But that’s not a can of worms that’ll get any better with _my_ help, and I know enough about myself to say that. Geez. What a dumb fucking plan.”

“You asked for all my dumb plans, even the ones I knew wouldn’t work. Do _you_ have anything better?”

“As a matter of fact, I _do!_ ” Techno could just hear Wilbur’s shark-tooth grin- and he couldn’t pull that tone between delighted and absolutely furious at his prior statement. _Best to assume delighted,_ he thought wryly. “Why don’t you take a tour around the other server you lived in for so much of your life, huh? Hypixel! Experience the sights, the sounds, go back to the stomping grounds you barely remember! Maybe try a few of their fighting games out, the ones you did well on back in the day!”

That thought was almost enough to make him sick. “That’s a _horrible_ idea.”

“Not when you’re a backwater small server boy trying to find out who you are in the big city server,” Wilbur said, all honeyed sing-song and false cheer. “It’s sure a hell of a lot better than _nearly dying over and over_ , mm? Who knows! You might remember nothing. You might remember _everything!_ For all we know, a gentle fucking _knock to your head_ could bring it all back!”

He took that as his cue to shut up, for the most part, about how bad an idea he thought it was. _Wasn’t Hypixel the place that had my original farm?_

Techno sighed and started collecting up the potatoes he had dug out, wiping most of the dirt off of them and lugging them back to the pile he had started. “I don’t _want_ to fight,” he murmured, thinking of blood overlaying all the dirt, thinking of a bloodbath that dissipated into stormy air on a dock.

Thinking of blood, death, of body counts and cheers.

“Not a problem!” Wilbur winked. Techno moved faster in his work. “You can just watch some of the matches, huh? Walk around the server a bit and bloom with the attention! It’s basically a huge city, you know- bigger than any of the capitols on the first servers. You lived there, actually, before they opened up their shiny new ‘skyworld’ concept and you moved over there. And eventually farmed potatoes so much that the server thought you were an automaton, or something.”

He was right. Of course it had been his former home. (Maybe he could escape to there, maybe he could retreat, maybe- but no. He was here to stay.)

“…How long had I lived there before that?”

Wilbur hummed. “I mean, it was maybe four years? Six? Somewhere that long ago that you got an actual place. You didn’t live there the first two or three years you frequented it, and _then_ you got an apartment, not to mention the fact that you, Phil and I moved here, like, five and a half years ago or something. Hell of a lot of memories to have made in that server. I wasn’t home all the time, sure, but at least I went to more than _one other server_ in my life.”

Memories. Memories that all seemed to be related to fighting or whatever he had done there, eating what was probably shitty food or losing _(oh no don’t you ever consider that, what anathema, don’t you dare, Techno never dies he never loses never never never-)_ battles with no grace ( _no, no losing here, what a faulty, damned memory_ ) in front of a crowd. He grimaced.

“I don’t particularly want to go there,” he said. “Even… _without_ fighting.”

“You asked for _my_ ideas,” Wilbur pointed out, “and it’ll probably be better than any more _you_ come up with, if your ideas are the whole benchmark. We can even meet with all the people you know there, even if it’s probably better for it to not be in their Sky-based subworld…”

“Squid,” he murmured. Remembered a smirk and a pointed nose and teeth too sharp to be natural, remembered slightly webbed fingers holding a potato.

“Among others.”

Remembered, in half-snippets and brief flashes, the way that blood was a _bitch_ to wash off sometimes.

“…I don’t think I want to see them.”

“Do you want your memories back or _not?_ ” The music that Wilbur had slowly begun to play again transformed into something annoyed, something ever so slightly grating on the ears with its faster pace. Techno let his flat face grow, somehow, more annoyed in the face of his mild pettiness. “I’m sure Phil would agree. He’d even leave here for you, you know, like he did before- make sure you’re all comfortable, hide you away from the crowds if you need it.”

Crowds?

“I don’t _need_ to be hidden away.”

“Then you’d have no problem going there, huh? Especially with that past you hiding all those little clues for your memory to follow in there? Hmm?”

“You’re playing dirty,” Techno muttered, face growing hot, longer ears twitching downwards. “You’re not supposed to play dirty.”

“All’s fair in love and war, Techno,” Wilbur laughed, lighter now that he clearly thought _something_ had been settled, a grin playing across his face like a sunbeam. “Or maybe in love and wanting to beat up your dumb brother.”

Techno threw the last potato of the batch at him. Wilbur howled with laughter before he yelped, jolting backwards and huffing when it flew over him.

“ _Hey,_ I’m telling Phil that you just tried to _murder me_ with a _potato_ -”

“ _Just you try_ -”

For a moment, he could forget their harsh looks at each other. He could forget their little spat, the way that Wilbur had sharpened when Techno had talked about his plans, the way that they glared and bristled until Wilbur’s worry finally manifested into a plan, into something that Techno would admit in his mind wasn’t terrible. Wilbur’s posture was something strong. Something _unbending._

All that was left to do was talk to Phil about it. He was all for helping Techno find his memories even under a plan that Techno wasn’t completely behind, right?

* * *

“Absolutely not.”

Techno lurked in the background as Wilbur stared down Phil, who was busy in the kitchen prepping vegetables. He snuck himself a few of the carrots before he hung back further, cloak bunching up around his shoulders as he backed around a corner.

“Just think of it! We don’t have to go one iota, one little bit closer to their Sky world than we have to. We take him around, let him see the sights- and weren’t you talking to me the other day about how Techno still doesn’t have a communicator? We need to get that for him, anyways, and you’d just go to Hypixel for it!”

“Techno,” Phil said softly, “is not supposed to be paraded around at the moment. It was bad enough bringing you two here and having you two overwhelm him with questions and references and triggers for conversation. What do you think a veritable _army_ of people would do to him?”

Why were they talking about him like he wasn’t there?

Techno frowned, let his hands gather up bits of his cloak in clenched fists as he stared, stared, stared.

“Come on, Phil! You could come along, make sure everything’s fine, have a chat with the admins if you want…you know how good it could be for him!”

“I am not,” Phil said, “in the right if I just ship my brother off to go have memories thrown at him one after the other. Sure, it’d get some of those back for him, but- but-“

“But?”

“But have you considered that maybe it’s best for it to be slow?”

Silence. Techno didn’t look at them. He leaned his head against a wall, breathed in long and slow, and let the air quietly whistle out through his nose as he listened to their conversation, to the slow, methodical chop of the knife as Phil worked during a chat.

“Maybe,” Phil said, quiet but carrying heavy ice with each syllable, “you should pay a little more attention to Techno.” Chop. “Not every memory is good.” Chop. “Do you just want to shock him into being the person you remember, again?” Chop. “Do you want to make him something he’s not by trying to give back everything at once? Do you-”

“He fucking suggested to my face that he thinks he could get into as many near-death situations as he could to shock the memories back, Phil! Don’t talk to me about what I want!”

Hah. Hahaha. This was a nightmare.

He opened his eyes and looked up, long and slow, to see Phil’s darkened eyes staring straight at him.

“Techno,” Phil whispered, and oh, how he wished to go back to being ignored and talked about as if they didn’t know he were there, “is that true?”

He gulped. Watched as those dark eyes took in the silent admission and the corners of his gaze crinkled.

“I’m going to need that said out loud.”

Would running be an acceptable answer?

Techno looked to Wilbur. He looked strong, unbending, unbreakable. _Righteous._ Maybe he _should_ have been afraid of that unshakable frame as they walked into the house.

At least Tommy was off and out of the house tending to his bees.

“I- I don’t-” Techno paused to take a deep breath, to settle himself, to calm his shaking hands. “Yes,” he said, and valiantly kept going. “Yes, I said that, and I just- I need to remember if I want to be the person you remember, or to be the person who remembers the person you remember, and so many of the- the- the holes lead to that server-”

“Techno, you don’t have to act like recovering what was lost is a race.”

They were on him now, huh, and not at- at- ugh.

“I’m. It. It’s not like it’s a race,” he said, hands clenched even tighter into fists as he frowned at the two of them. “This- I just have to figure out more things about myself. And. I remembered a lot because of that- that stupid venom. I think. I just thought it was a good. Good idea.”

“I’m not risking you dying, Techno, to get back your memories! Is that- did you _let_ that spider-”

“No!” He bared his teeth slightly as he glared, as the ache in his arm momentarily flared into a sharp pain. “I didn’t let it get me, it was a mistake, and, by the way, I wasn’t- wasn’t for the idea of going to the server! It’s not like I remember much good about it!”

Phil’s face shifted a bit into an emotion that wasn’t quite shock, wasn’t quite knowing. He paused to frown before he shook his head, looking for all the world like something was clicking in his head about it rather than in Techno’s.

“…What do you remember about it?”

Wilbur was tentative, looking for all the world like he hadn’t been the unbending figure he had shown to them moments previous. He looked- not nervous. Not quite. He looked simply worried.

“Blood,” he said, biting enough to make them both flinch back with his now rasping tone. “More than blood. Fighting. _Winning_. Techno never dies.”

“Anything…anything else?”

“ _Techno never dies_ ,” he repeated, dark and dull, letting his cloak more fully cover him as he glared at the two. He wanted to leave. Techno didn’t- he didn’t want this almost _interrogation_. The hybrid just wanted a way to recover his memories quicker.

If anything, Phil’s face grew a little paler at the phrase. He looked at Wilbur.

“He needs a communicator,” Wilbur repeated, and a note of victory threaded through his voice. “He needs a communicator, Phil, and we can all go with him, if you want. Show him his apartment. Maybe a place or two he liked to go to for food. Stay there a few weeks, even if it’s not to go and fight and shit, okay?”

“I don’t like this.”

“Can you think of anything else to get to what he wants, huh? Not a race, fuckin’ sure, but do you want him getting into shit here, where he could die if he goes through with his idea and we aren’t there, or- or go to Hypixel where he _can’t?_ ”

“I don’t like this.”

“What else is there? How else can we get him what he wants? It isn’t as if we’d be anywhere and everywhere in there. We’d be able to come back if we wanted. He has an apartment there, we can get the admins to check in on it and make sure it’s all fine before we go! It’ll be fine!”

“Wilbur,” Phil said, voice saturated with a _doneness_ that startled them both, “you’re making decisions for your brother. I get it. I really do. But I don’t like the fact that you’re just…you’re just…” He waved an arm out. “Just let Techno speak, Wil.”

Both pairs of eyes looked to him. He bristled, almost ready to snap out, but didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Techno- please. You’ve heard his argument. We know part of yours. I’m not the biggest fan of it, but…but…there is a point. There’s a lot of your life spent there.” Phil paused. “Parts we don’t know about either, I think. If you go there…not everything’s going to be what you want, okay?”

Phil looked at Wilbur. Wilbur stared straight at Techno. Phil…Phil sighed.

“Not everything’s going to be what you expect,” he finished quietly. “If you go, you’re at least taking Wil and Tommy with you. I’ll have to check to see if the server’ll like me going if you decide to go.”

“I want to find out more of my- my memories-”

“Then go,” Wilbur snapped, torn from a righteousness and gone into a spark of a fire, “Just go with us, _gods,_ you’re so-”

“I’m so _what?_ ”

“You’re so irritating! I love you, I fucking love you to death but you have this big great chance to go and remember so much in front of you that you’re just not taking! You can be so- so daft sometimes!”

“If I go,” Techno said, past caring the way that his throat scraped at his voice and left it a mauled beast crawling out of his mouth, “will I hate who I find? Will I- I- despise what I once was?”

“You’ll never find out if you don’t go! You’ll just be a fucking coward for the rest of your life!”

“Boys!”

Techno’s hands curled, almost as if he wanted to grasp for a weapon, to lunge forwards and choke Wilbur out and go for blood but- but no. That wasn’t…a good instinct. He stopped baring his teeth, stepped back, let his shoulders hunch more over his frame.

“Boys,” Phil said, softer this time. “I don’t…you can’t yell at each other like this. Wilbur, there are lines that you’re so fucking dangerously close to crossing. You know what they are. Techno- nobody’s forcing you to do anything, but…you can’t judge yourself until you’ve seen it all. I know you’re hesitant, and I also know you…you want to know that part of yourself. Just…you don’t have to go it alone, Techno, whatever you do.”

“I’ll go,” he said, and stopped himself from baring his teeth and tusks again at the way that victory filtered into Wilbur’s eyes. “I’ll- go. And I’ll. Go with you and Tommy. At least. It’ll be…a fun time.”

A fun time in a world that he only remembered in half-snaps and of walking along brightly lit corridors. A fun time in a world that he associated with blood on his hands, with a rush of adrenaline.

A fun time.

As he turned to leave, he bared his teeth again, angry and furious at Phil, at Wilbur, at everyone. At himself.

They’d see. They’d either regret it or they wouldn’t, letting him go to this, server, part of him tugging at an invisible leash to go and see and maybe talk to people his mind half-remembered- but another part shied further away, screaming at having to enter a land of blood and sweat and tears and-

* * *

“Techno?”

“Mm?”

“How’re you doing? You’ve…have you been through a rough time, recently?”

“…What makes you think that?”

“…You end your fights quicker than you already do. Crow a little less. Leave before it’s all said and done.”

“I think I’d like to talk about something else, Teach.”

“Hah. Fair enough. Oh- you missed that stitch, unpick that, it’ll mess up the sequence if you don’t do that now-“

* * *

Tommy was fucking thrilled that they’d go to Hypixel together. Of course.

Techno watched as he excitedly texted his friend- maybe they’d go out and do something while he was adjusting, he didn’t know.

Wilbur was smug. He couldn’t stand being around him like that, so he left to go stare at Phil, who looked a bit more put upon with every day that inched closer to when they were aiming to go.

He drank a lot of tea in that week or two of waiting. A lot of lavender tea.

“I can’t go with you all,” Phil explained to him one evening, strange text floating in the air almost akin to the type of communicators that Wilbur and Tommy used. His smile was a bit tired, a bit sad as he stared at the script, and he explained at Techno’s confused look.

“So it’s, uh, something they taught us in the little certification program I went in- if you don’t want your server to go inactive and have the life in it pause, you need someone in it for a majority of the time. And I want things to keep going, you know? Stasis can cause. Problems. As we know. The admin’s presence is the most important, and I was gone for a bit under a month, checking different servers for you.”

“So..”

“So if I want to keep things functioning the way they are, I can’t spend more than another three or four days outside of this server for another few months,” Phil sighed. “I could visit you over in Hypixel, but…I’d rather save it for an emergency, you know? This world’s like…my child.”

He did not know. He did not understand.

Techno stared dubiously at Phil and kept sipping his lavender tea.

“All boring admin stuff, just- can’t go with you guys. But I’ll call every day, okay? We can all have a good chat, update me on what’s going on, I can tell you how your potatoes are doing…”

With every day that approached the date when they had all decided on the trio going- Techno only agreeing under extreme duress, he let it be known multiple times- the line of Techno’s shoulders grew tighter, the creases by his eyes became more prominent, the furrow in his brow deepened.

He drank more and more and _more_ lavender tea as the date approached, enough to make Phil stop and stare when he went back for what had to be the millionth mug. Blame his past self- the tea was supposed to be _calming,_ a notebook from long ago told him in his own handwriting, complete with slightly sophisticated chicken scratch and all. Something for when he was angry. Stressed. Worried. _Put in as much honey as you think you need,_ it said. _Gods know you need it. I need it. Whatever. Just make sure to get the amount of lavender right…_

Of _course_ he drank it multiple times a day. When _wasn’t_ he in need of something calming, when dealing with his family, with his memories, with his life?

At least it worked. (Somewhat.)

On the day they left, he brought a thermos of the stuff. The only thermos in the house- Phil’s. He didn’t care that he took it. That was what he deserved for shipping him along with Wilbur and Tommy, who both looked too excited for the occasion.

Off they went into the wild that seemed to be Hypixel, he supposed.

They were swept away from waypoint to waypoint, and all he could taste was lavender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[important! please read ^^]**
> 
> bad news, i think, although in the end, once this is done, it'll be better for those who read it.
> 
> upon going through what i have for the next section, i've felt very- discontent with what i had, and have done a complete rework of the outline for a good part of the story, and so i have to rewrite the chapters i've already completed. if i had edited what i had for it and given it to you i couldn't've forgiven myself. so for now, this work will be put on a soft pause as i build up enough of a backlog to feel comfortable posting again. to keep updated, please join the discord to see fun, excusive snippets, see some cool people, and hang out with me as i try not to spiral because i'm not updating consistently anymore. :)
> 
> if everything goes well, it won't be a crazy long time until i post again! just...i ask that you all be patient. i sincerely apologize.
> 
> ...i think that in the end the rework might add, uh. ten to thirty thousand extra words over what i had already planned? so. that'll be fun!
> 
> again, you can find me primarily in the discord that is in the end end notes. thanks. i'd update as i got chapters done but i...don't want to burn out. <3
> 
> **important important update, 1/7/2021**
> 
> currently am ~45k words into the next part of the fic, which is an almost total rewrite of the next arc :) will update later with a more accurate estimate of when updates will start again, but the arc will be at LEAST 50k words in total, possibly ~60k or further!
> 
> o/
> 
> UPDATE 2/1: HEY THERE'S A NEW CHAPTER NOW, PREVIOUS NOTES KEPT FOR POSTERITY


	15. xv. bare-faced at your masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno finds himself in a world of lights and movement, and his brothers are his only anchors. Wilbur and Tommy realize that they've forgotten to tell Techno everything that needs to be known. Sometimes, a home never ended up becoming a real home.
> 
> (Or: Perhaps there was a reason he was ferried around for so many meetings after Phil pulled him out of that island.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "warsaw" by dessa]

“I don’t like this place,” Techno said not even half a minute after they stepped out of the waypoint’s exit. He took in the sights and the sounds, wide-eyed and staring at the bright lights and sounds around him, the giant billboards advertising different entertainments for visitors to attend even as others talked about cafes, about restaurants, about the fact that free housing would be given to the winner of this or that game if they were top of the leaderboards of the month- and felt like he could barely breathe. “It’s. Loud.”

It struck him that this must have been part of the place that Phil had dragged him through, delirious and still clinging to the fact that he had been taken away from his life in the potato fields. Maybe it had been a bit quieter- some space more geared towards the backend running of the server, some place for meetings and business and correcting bugs with its own separate waypoint system- but that had been bright and flashy, too.

It was overwhelming. Before, he could very easily…dissociate and chill out. Now, he had no chance but to take it all in and shrink under the sparkles and the flash. He tugged the jacket he was wearing over his shoulders more firmly, unable to pay proper attention to it all, feeling like the fact that his cloak was in his bag gave him a distinct lack of a shield.

A distinct lack of protection.

Wait- come to think of it, were people looking at him weirdly?

“Come on,” Wilbur said, sniffing and turning up his nose as they walked forwards. “Let’s at least get you to where your place is and then we can go from there.”

“…I have a place here?”

Tommy, who was just ahead of them, turned to give Techno a look. “Of _course_ you have a place here, Techno. We’ve talked about it with you, you know? Like, you have the place. So people don’t. Crowd you.”

_ Crowd you? _

What the _fuck?_

At his look of confusion, Tommy slowly turned to Wilbur, face grave and dark. “…Did you not. Tell him.”

Wilbur seemed to have that same realization flood into his eyes as Techno glanced over. There was a paleness to him, something even whiter than before, something more than a bit regretful. “Oh. Uh. That would have been a good idea, huh?”

“…It’s like you two are speaking a different language.”

“Let’s hurry along now,” Wilbur said quickly, taking Techno by the hand as Tommy moved back to grab his other one. They started dragging him along, fast enough that he almost lost his footing before he adjusted to the pace. “It’s not too far, especially if you use a local waypoint, I love their great, amazing, stellar, robust system…”

He could hear people speaking around him- faint, but his larger ears picked it up, twitching ever so slightly.

_ Is that Techno? _

_ No, that’s just a cosplayer, you know he’s moved to the Sky subsystem, don’t be silly- _

_ Hey, who’s Techno? _

_ Is that- _

_ Wow, what a good cosplay! If only they got the crown and the cape, then you wouldn’t even be able to tell… _

They ushered him along quicker, although to a glance it didn’t seem like they were in a hurry. Techno, for his part, was simply full of such a deep well of confusion that he may as well be drowning.

“What’s. Goin’ on.”

“So, uh, big T. Brother of mine. Big man.” Tommy’s laugh was the kind of high-pitched that Techno had only seen him create with pure stress, light and airy and ready for him to bolt. That. Didn’t bode well. “Uh, you’re maybe famous?”

_ “What?” _

* * *

“So you’re tellin’ me…I was known for being good. At the most popular form of entertainment here.”

They stood in the foyer of what seemed to be an expansive apartment, shining white and expensive-looking wood and marble accents everywhere, threaded throughout with a kind of rose-gold.

This isn’t anything like a home, he thought as he looked it over, tried to take in two different experiences at once. This can’t be any sort of a home to anyone.

“The _best,_ ” Tommy chirped. Techno pinched the bridge of his nose tightly breathed in, and let it out with a long sigh.

“I was known for being the _best,_ then” he corrected, “and so everybody knows me by every little bit of my appearance. And…my cloak.”

He stepped further into the area, noting the opulence, the splendor, the fact that half of the chairs seemed designed to hurt someone and the other half seemed to just be very nice-looking and plush furnishings.

Wilbur immediately jumped down onto the hellishly large couch. Techno didn’t follow suit. Tommy stayed glued to his side, vibrating with apologetic energy.

“I mean, you were known for having a crown, too, and you didn’t have either of those on? I mean, people do like to dress as you.” Tommy scratched at his head sheepishly. “And dye their hair pink, or get wigs or whatever.”

“…Tommy.”

“I’m not kidding! I mean, it’s dropped off recently, you know? At least, that’s what I’ve heard. All because of that whole ‘vanishing to farm potatoes’ thing, and even before that- during the actual war, you mostly stuck to that island, so you were sort of like a cryptid….but before that, you were the big name around here! Still are, sort of!”

“Before that…” he prompted, eyebrows raising.

“You maybe got top marks in half of the competitions, became a well known face and got even more famous because you were, uh…down to earth? If I remember correctly? And weren’t exactly approachable. So there was that whole myst- mist-”

“ _Mystique,_ ” Wilbur said helpfully from where he was reclining on the couch, that looked far too nice for his dumb sweater and beanie and…him, despite being one of the more sensible looking seats in the place. “That’s what it is.”

“Thank you. _Mystique,_ ” Tommy corrected himself. “And we were happy for you, but, uh. You didn’t like it.”

“I wonder why.” Techno’s voice was as dry as the desert. He watched as Wilbur and Tommy visibly grew more nervous. “You know, it would have maybe been a good idea to, I don’t know…tell me that I’m famous? When I already didn’t want to go here because of how many people there’d be?”

“Hopefully they’ll just think you’re a crazy accurate cosplayer,” Wilbur chirped, flashing him a grin. He shot it down with one of his eyebrows going a tiny bit higher. “Geez, geez, okay. I get it. I’m sorry, okay? We sort of…forgot.”

“Really.”

“…We don’t exactly frequent this server.”

He grunted and looked away to survey the room more, now that he wasn’t absolutely dedicated to being absolutely and utterly unimpressed by their antics. It was far, _far_ nicer than he deserved. Far nicer than he was comfortable with. Long panels of glass looked out onto the city below, a beautiful shell, a lovely place to entertain people. He thought he could almost think of it, could almost taste the atmosphere it could create- the set to his shoulders as rigid as it was now, staring down people of importance to Hypixel that wanted to give him sponsorships, or who could give him favors.

 _I could make sure that you’d be on the fast track for private server licenses. Admin teaching, you know,_ he thought he could hear, not from here but from a time when he was younger, face guarded with ferocity and caution instead of boredom. Something that made his fists clench to even hear an echo of whatever _that_ was. _You’re quite the star._

_ Talk to me when I’ve gotten a better winstreak than this shit. _

_ Language, language. You know how to treat potential sponsors, don’t you? _

Techno shook his head, let the memory escape him, and ventured out of the living room, out of the too-large space and gold-veined marble and past the expansive, well-maintained kitchen. What a waste of time and money and space that was clearly just used for entertaining very, _very_ rare visitors to this…this hellish, clean _purgatory._

Memories could wait until he saw where the fuck everything was. He opened a door- nope, that was a bathroom with fogged windows and the highest of commodities, another door at its back end. He closed it and moved on. It was obvious that Wilbur and Tommy were watching, clearly able to see his methodical path through the apartment (even if it seemed as large as Phil’s house, if not larger), but he paid it no mind and opened another door.

Gods.

…Nobody needed a whole fucking… _walk in wine cooler_. For just wine. And absolutely nothing else. _Every row was stocked_.

Actually, now that he thought about it, maybe he did need all this wine. It seemed that he would sure as hell want a bottle of wine after enduring whatever this too-large, too-bright city had to offer in the past, and it wasn’t like Tommy had to have been there most of the time. The Techno of the past had to have made use of this, if he was alone and living somewhere like this. (Hah. As if he could presume what the past him would have wanted.)

He had to stop himself from seriously considering bringing a bottle or two out- but there was a teenager. An older teenager, but still a minor, and he didn’t want to see Tommy drink anything alcoholic. Nope. Moving on.

…Oh, thank _fuck._ At least where he slept actually looked lived in, even if the bed was well made, even if it was far cleaner than his room at Phil’s had become over the past few months.

He breathed in. The faintest smell of lavender hit him, and it was so surprising how it just made him relax. Holy hell, it was close to the thought of coming home.

Now this room- _this_ had been his home.

He considered what hung on a wall across from him- a splash of crimson red, the same kind of red as the cloak he wore now, but…clearly imbued with something _more_ in it, even from the way it sat. Techno strode up, ignoring the bed that looked too simple to match the rest of the apartment, the desk that looked rough and worn, the beanbag on the floor that had seen better days, and approached the hanging cloth.

(He ignored the swords, axes, and bows on other parts of the wall, or the kits clearly meant to maintain them. He ignored the wardrobe, one door partially open to reveal a haphazard mix of fine clothing and the kind of things he had at Phil’s, half of it bundled up and paired with old bags of lavender. Ignored how there was an unwritten letter on the desk, a pen uncapped next to it.)

He took one edge of the cloak and flipped it around as if on instinct to stare at tiny bits of embroidery on the inside, barely noticeable except for how they shimmered at a very careful angle. If he focused enough on making them stand out from that underlining of fabric, runes started to take shape.

It felt, for a second, as if the cloak in his bag should have had the same symbols.

Even though Techno had forgotten exactly what they meant, still didn’t remember even when they stared him straight in the face, it was clear that they _screamed_ with power. Enough energy to make him freeze and stare and wonder what exactly what they said- but the energy spoke enough that he didn’t have to know the specifics.

_ Protection. Protection. Protection. _

“You insisted on getting someone to do the final touches to that one yourself.”

He spun around to see Wilbur slouched in the doorway, a small smile on his face. Beyond that, Tommy appeared preoccupied with staring out the window, communicator taking pictures before he furiously typed on it.

“…Not Phil? Not you?” _Not me?_ Something sounded… _wrong_ with what Wilbur was saying. Something fundamental was just…off about it.

“He didn’t have the knowledge of how to imbue clothing with enchantments,” Wilbur said, and was that a hint of awe in his voice? “I mean, not many people do at all. That’s something usually reserved for, like…secretive masters of a craft, and they only take special commissions. Getting someone to do it for you- man, you even got someone to do a few things for us, and I don’t even know how much that would have cost. They’re hermits of a different breed, Techno.”

He walked up next to him and tilted his head to get a better look at the cloak. “Armor’s easy to enchant regularly for anyone,” Techno murmured almost as if to himself, rubbing his thumb over the very subtle raised edge of the embroidery. “Weapons are easy, too. Everything else is next to impossible.”

“I think Phil cried when he saw the final cloak for the first time.” Wilbur nodded at the cloak, as if it weren’t obvious what he was talking about. “Bawled somethin’ about being proud that you could go and contact one of those masters for yourself. I think all of us were in shock the whole day or something, since it wasn’t like you talked much about exactly how well you were doing here. More than enough to provide for yourself and…a lot of others.”

In his heart of hearts, in the rhythm that beat constantly in his soul, this stitching screamed _my handiwork, my handiwork, mine. I did this. This is mine. Some part of me remembers the long process of stitching this in, stitch by scarlet stitch._

…But who the hell had taught him?

The thought ate at him, at the glimpses he had seen before of thread and stitching and an unreadable visage, but he put the cloak back with an idle, discontented hum to go and explore the rest of his room. The thought didn’t release him from its grip, simply lurked at the back of his mind (would he ever get that knowledge back? Would he? Would he remember whoever taught him and why nobody knew? Why the embroidery was so hidden unless you looked for it and were close enough to run your fingers over the threads?) as he moved about.

He could just…put a pin in it. _There_. He could obsess over it later.

“Seems like I only really used this room,” he said, voice clearly awkward as he stared around. “…What else is in this place?”

“Well…” Wilbur hummed. “There’s the bathroom which you already saw, the cool as hell wine cooler- hah, you’ve given us some of the bottles in it before, it’s the good stuff-”

“There’s the kitchen and living room that you already saw, but they’re basically the same room,” Tommy called out, and Techno turned to see him waving with both arms and grinning impishly. “All that ‘open space’ and shit that people love on television. You told me once that you didn’t have a proper dining table or a dining room because you wanted to make people who weren’t friends uncomfortable,” he declared, “so you just fuckin’ used…the coffee table or that island counter for meals. Even the important ones. Hilarious.”

“I’m…sure.”

“And oh, oh- Wilbur, I’m taking over-”

“Go ahead, brat-”

“We haven’t been here in a while, like, _obviously_ , but still. Down this dumb as hell hallway is, uh- a few guest rooms, mostly for when we came over or when someone you knew visited, which…I have no clue who you knew or would have known here. This way, there’s a private waypoint to these, like, hot springs imitations and a few other places? It’s weird. There’s private springs and public ones there, but it’s probably not great to go there, uh, considering everything? Creepy as hell sometimes. I don’t like it.”

“You went there once, Tommy. ‘S your fault you didnt beeline for the private springs.”

“Wil, you- you just shut _up_ , alright-”

Techno hummed and let himself drift behind Tommy, peering in each room that was opened. Indeed, the first few appeared to be bedrooms while there was some kind of odd kind of closet with a terminal through one door. The next was a bathroom, almost like the master bathroom that connected to the living room and his own room. Next-

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathed.

This was. A lot.

“‘Oh’ is right, big man,” Tommy said, nodding eagerly as the door was properly opened for the room at the end of the hallway. “I mean, the other ones we passed were either storage or some boring shit, but this? _This_ is the coolest bit.”

It was also the only place that seemed like it had been used more than once or twice besides his bedroom and (sort of) the master bathroom. It was a training room, something that tried to tug back memories almost instantly, flash after lightning flash- all boring, all just training, running on the treadmill he saw tucked into a corner or sitting on the floor eating _microwaved noodles_ of all things or running through sword techniques on an open spot on the floor-

This was where he trained to get better at fighting. _(At killing.)_ At winning.

“If there was one place where the admins and your sponsors- you had sponsors, right?- wanted to make sure was good for you, well…” Wilbur, who came up next to him, gestured at the space. “Pretty cool, but. It’s sorta fucked, isn’t it? Paying for all of this just so you earn them more money. Bet you they’ve made the money of this thousands of times over just by product shit or you winning tournaments in their name or whatever. I remember seeing you in an ad or two, once, I think.”

And that was something Phil hadn’t mentioned, either. Tournaments. _Sponsors_. Whatever hell of a culture was formed by raising up those who were good at these games of blood and bone and having them be _celebrities_.

His skin crawled. Maybe this _should_ have been something he hadn’t budged on, actually. Maybe it was the worst idea in the world. _Fuck._

But Phil’s words came back to him, even now: _I think you just never wanted to lose. Never wanted to lose and end up losing again later, when it mattered the most_.

What had living like this _been_ for even beyond that, though? It hounded him just like the mystery of that superior cloak, that _complete_ cloak did. How did living like this benefit him instead of staying in more humble accommodations, instead of refusing sponsors, refusing any who wanted to benefit off of him and just- keeping on going winning tournaments? Why did he have to be such a public figure?

He had come here to find answers. So far, he was only gaining more and more questions, enough that they were pouring themselves liberally out of his throat and dragging each little thought out of his body to silently hang in the air.

Why couldn’t he have stayed with Phil? Why was he- why did he have to be _here_ , instead?

He took a deep breath, spun around on a dime, and resolved to ignore it for now. Better things would come. Memories would arrive. At some point in the future, he could finally fit all of the horrible, wonderful puzzle pieces together and build a monstrosity of a life back up from his cracked foundations.

“I’m tired,” he said slowly, clearly. “Pick…whatever rooms you usually have. I guess. I’m going to go…figure out how the shower works and then sleep. Do whatever you want. This is. Sure something.”

“Hey, hey, Techno-”

“…What is it, Tommy?”

“Want me to make some honey milk for you to have once you’re out?”

“For the _last time_ -”

“ _Honeyed_ milk, yeah, yeah, whatever-”

“If there’s any around, sure. Who would keep this place stocked for someone gone for years?”

“Good thing we told the admins we were coming, then,” Wilbur said, and Techno turned a searching, haunted gaze back onto him. “What? I mean, like, they _know_ you. You knew them. Maybe they’ll pop over and say hi if you’re fine with it later. They just…stocked it up with what the server data told them you had most often here, I’m pretty sure.”

How…invasive.

He’d despair if he found that everything in the kitchen was something he liked.

“Found it,” Tommy hollered, and Techno could just _feel_ a stress headache coming on.

He did the only thing any sane person would do: immediately abscond to his room to grab sleep clothes before hiding away in the bathroom to take a long, warm shower.

Techno turned the knob on, hair finally free from its loose braid-

_ (Wait, no, that was too cold, holy shit, holy SHIT-) _

* * *

“Why are you teaching me this, anyways?”

Techno watched as the only other person in the room hummed and flipped through a few pieces of paper. It was another moment before they shook their head, sighed, and brought out an embroidery hoop, motioning him closer.

“Because you look like you could do some good in the world,” they said, a kind of softness in their voice that spoke of exhaustion and a quiet sort of sadness.

“But I’m… _me_.”

“You’re you,” they agreed, “but what does that mean? Does it mean that you’re whoever you believe you are? How the _masses_ believe you are? How your _family_ believes you are?” They waved a hand and laughed before pointing at the embroidery hoop. “Now, pay attention- if you want any enchantment to have even a chance to bind, evenly spacing this rune among the set is crucial…”

* * *

“You could do great things, kid.” A man leaned out over a railing, framed by the harsh lights of the city, and Techno followed suit, hesitation grabbing at him and slowing his steps. “Change this world just by a movement of your hand, by a twitch of your lips, by a short-spoken endorsement. By what you do. But you wouldn’t do it for just anything, huh?”

Techno stayed silent.

“Mm, I was told you weren’t much of a talker. That’s fine, that’s fine, all the newbies are shy- although it’s not like you’re a newbie, not really. But what if I said I had an offer for you? Something that you could only hope to reach once in a lifetime, maybe never if the fates didn’t align? The power to shape worlds even beyond this one?”

One beat. Two.

“ _Work with me_ , here. In the future, even, you could get your own admin in your retinue, you could speak with the greatest of the greats…”

Silence.

“Kid-”

“…What about VIP privileges for others? In-server protection…?”

“…Now you’re speakin’ my language. Maybe a year or two down the road, if you keep performin’ the way you’re doin’, we’ll make you even more of a star than you’re becomin’…”

* * *

“And the winner is…Techno!”

He stood, coated in blood and gore and pieces of every person he had come across. On the feed, on broadcast, it had to be at least somewhat presentable- the work of skilled admins-in-training carefully manipulating the data, plucking out what was too much before sending the footage on its way even past a glass barrier to those watching ‘in person’. He looked at the indistinguishable faces of the crowd, back down at himself, and closed his eyes.

He’d make sure they all knew his name, before his life here was over and done with.

_ This is for them. This is all for them. _

* * *

“Techno! You’ve been in there a while, need anything?”

Water beat unevenly on his back as he stood there, water turned almost to scalding as he stood still underneath it. Too hot was better than too cold, the scars littering his body hissing with discontent, hair not even washed- but- that-

He already had a feeling that he’d hate Hypixel.

Fame. Fortune. Behind the scenes dealmaking.

Techno didn’t throw up, but it was close.

“No- No! I’m. Fine.”

“Night, Techno!”

“…Night.”

No tears slipped out. Nothing.

After the shower, he moved to his bedroom to stare at the cloak, moved to the wardrobe to see various, less powerful enchantments stitched into half of the clothes, thread barely visible even close up.

 _Hide,_ most of them gave off an air of, all stitched in comfy, unobtrusive wear. _Hidden, unnoticed, protect._

Nothing of the finer wear had any stitching.

Questions, questions, _questions._ There were always so many fucking _questions_ he wanted to know the answers to, always more popping up when he got answers, he couldn’t think-

Techno barely got any sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the hypixel arc ran away from me...
> 
> welcome back to snapshots, and strap in for the long ride. we're back to chapters, baby. i'm settling into maybe taking care of myself a little more- so for now, we're at a schedule of updating every ~four days or so. just keep an eye out. updates will be regular for a while yet, and i have a buffer ready.
> 
> apologies for the wait. i was very dissatisfied with my original writing for this segment, and it had a major overhaul. thank you for your patience! we're now into a sort of different vibe, although it carries a lot of energy over. be prepared for my meandering worldbuilding and thoughts on what goes on!
> 
> i don't know what else to say, so i shall just say that i hope yall have been well, and to have a lovely day. night. whatever.


	16. xvi. the magpie will have his way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno sorts through the knickknacks that tell the story of his life. A figure from the past gives dubious financial advice. Wilbur forgets how to tell time, despite his many years of experience doing so.
> 
> (Or: A garment meant for protection doesn't exactly stand for much when the danger's already inside of you.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "magpie" by the mountain goats]

This place was new. This place was _strange_.

New- but not quite _new_ , not with how letting his fingers brushing against the foreign objects he found soothed him with their familiar- but not too familiar- textures. The memories held within every square inch of the apartment giggled at him, skirted around the edges of his mind and refused to actually grant him whatever they held within. They teased and poked and prodded almost beyond repair and Techno could only _groan_ from where he laid on his bed in a vague half-awake state, the heels of his palms pressing at his eyes in a tired anger.

The haze of morning was reluctant to go. The room stayed cast in near-complete darkness thanks to the deep black curtains pulled across the length of the open wall, the neon lights and the sheer life of the city too scared to even properly peer in and bathe Techno in the light of advertisements and neon lights from dusk to dawn.

He hated the necessity, even as his vision thanked him for it.

Sleep still clouded his eyes, reluctant to leave and let him properly wake up. Techno stretched slowly before he let his arms fall to his sides. Took one slow breath in before letting it out, dragging himself out of bed with all of the excitement of someone that thought they were walking quite surely to their own demise.

Shit- _fuck- ow_. That was something relatively pointy on the ground that he just stubbed his toe on.

Pitch blackness was the _worst_ for waking up properly.

Somehow, though, despite it all, despite the pulsing of his hurt foot and the softness of the rug under his feet and the strong desire to flop back into the bed, Techno managed to make it to the curtains and painstakingly drag them open. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes, shielded them afterwards with a hand when the light outside made him flinch-

What time even _was_ it? It looked exactly the same as when he had gone to sleep. It looked exactly the same as when they had actually entered the server, slowly shifting colors and all.

It wasn’t even like Techno had anything to check the time with.

 _Fuck this,_ he decided, and just left the curtains open so that the light of the city could come in and illuminate his room.

Come to think of it, maybe the city’s lights were the reason that there seemed to be no overhead light at all, only a lamp on the nearby desk to light up the room any further. Why bother with many lights when all you needed to do if you had a large enough set of windows was to draw open the curtains?

He stretched. Groaned. Time crawled on at a perilously slow pace, and he couldn’t hear any indication at all that his brothers were outside the door and off in the living room. Each second that passed was another that the sleep slowly lifted off of him, leaving him blearily looking around and just…observing and drinking in that which he was too overwhelmed to look at the night before.

The cloak- the cloak was, quite simply, avoided. He refused to look at it again just yet, refused to look at that piece of clothing whose purpose was to purely _protect_ whoever wore it through thick and thin, through anything that anyone could throw at it, runes that he didn’t understand giving off just as much energy as any of the enchanted pieces of armor or weapons back at Phil’s. Back at home.

Instead of the important, more grand-looking items around, Techno found himself picking over the little things, almost like a little magpie that eyed anything even remotely interesting to put it in its nest. A trinket here, a feeling there. He curled his toes into the rug and tried to imagine that it was anywhere near comparable to the grass back at home.

Slowly, he gathered a small collection of things that sparked some interest: First, a little…stick with buttons on it. Second, a pincushion. Third was the most fascinating of them all- what looked like a very fancy, ornate fountain pen stuck in a pen holder and lumped in with all the other, shittier pens that he had picked up, once upon a time.

Fourth, fifth, sixth- well. There were too many little bits and pieces of interesting things. A post-it note. A scribbled diagram that made no sense. A pin.

But what, in life, what held the most importance?

What gave the most _context_ to a recovering amnesiac, hell-bent on discovering who they used to be?

Techno sat in a creaky but comfortable chair in front of the desk and considered the small pile that wasn’t even large enough to think about spilling over the surface. Pens. Pincushion. Stick. Other things. Upon closer inspection, the stick looked closely related to the remote Phil used for the television at his house- but when he looked around, no console for a television seemed to be available.

…Huh.

Moving on. He had a goal to accomplish, even in the lengthy, confused way that he was doing so.

There was an eerie nature in exploring the past in the exact way he was trying to do, all bumbling and awkward in its slow sincerity. It was almost like he was an archaeologist in some of the shows Phil had on in the background sometimes over the past few months, of young people venturing to the very first servers and uncovering the bones of stories tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of years old nonchalantly coexisting among the lives of the server’s currently thriving civilizations.

He was uncovering what had been left to gather dust, and it was impossible to know until it was all in view whether it had been covered up for a reason or not.

Techno sifted through a mire of conflicted feelings, conflicted thoughts, conflicted memories as he picked through the little things. The pincushion, all rough fabric and hand-sewn with a recognizable lavender scent, brought to mind pinning shreds of fabric together, sewing it with a slow but steady hand as conversation passed over him. Only a few pins rested in it now, but he took one out to consider it in the light.

Gave himself a slight poke.

 _Ah-_ still sharp. He watched as a little point of blood welled up on his arm before he passed a thumb over it and watched the red disappear.

He put the pin back in the pincushion.

The pen…he couldn’t look at the pen for long. It made him uncomfortable, he realized after a long, hard stare- almost like that past self of his had hated it with every trembling fiber of his being, hadn’t ever wanted to pick it up and waste its finery- or hated what it was used for. In some odd way it made Techno feel _slimy_ \- and so he moved on from it with a heart that was beating faster than before, racing for just a few seconds before his ever-so-slightly shaking hands picked up a metal pin, discarded it, went for a pin of a different color to examine in the blurred light of the outside world. He couldn’t identify with any confidence what color it was meant to be.

 _Sign right here_ , his mind belatedly murmured, its gentle touch trapping him before he realized what it was referencing- mind still half on the fucking pen. _Right on the dotted line, there’s a man. We look forward to working with you, Techno. Such a rising star, you know- big name in the industry._

_ Sign right there, yes, there, that’s done! First big public sponsorship with us- you’re makin’ the big moves now, you know, up into the big leagues and makin’ more relationships by the second. Have you met our CEO- no, what am I thinking, of course you haven’t- _

_ Oh. You’d rather sign with your own pen? Sure. Right here, right next to my name…oh. Your name really is Techno? What kinda name is that, thought it was just a stage name, hah- don’t worry, this is just a non-disclosure agreement to not talk about this before it’s announced… _

Nope. He refused. Those remembered words stank of- of- of _something_ that he didn’t want to think about, something that made him stand up suddenly on the spot, ignoring the creaky desk chair before he went to go and wash his hands.

_ Only been a year since you’ve partnered with us and you’re getting into tournaments with the long-time champions. A new record for that, I think. And you’re not even from any of the servers we have scouting agents in! _

He washed the sliminess trying to overtake the once comforting fog away. Washed until his hands hurt, until they were rubbed raw under the water and just about to bleed. Washed until he grit his teeth and turned the faucet off and tried not to think of how it had been a pen that snapped a little, itty bitty part of him so early. A fucking _fountain pen_.

Why was a _pen_ , of all things, trying to bring back memories that seemed as if they would flood in and choke him with their emotional charge? Why was it the _pen,_ of all things? Why did the words that the particularly elegantly shaped implement evoked make him feel dirty, feel hopeless, make him want to wash his hands until they hurt?

…Come to think of it, now, he could really use the cloak.

First, though, first-

What time was it?

Instead of taking the open door from the bathroom to the master bedroom, Techno let his raw hands open the door to the main part of the apartment, eyes quickly scanning the room before finding…nothing. No brothers. No activity. Only a collection of chairs and very small tables and an island that guided his line of sight to the kitchen.

Upon venturing further in, hands ghosting along the cold marble countertops, Techno found a clock function merrily over the oven timer- and it was…just before the time that the sun usually rose in his home world, in Phil’s world, if he remembered correctly. Somewhere before seven. The clock read five.

He couldn’t’ve gotten any more than two, three hours of sleep- and bad rest, at that.

_ Fuck. _

He laughed quietly to himself, let his fingers dig very slightly into his eyes with the hysteria of someone who couldn’t begin to comprehend the parts that made the whole. His smile was razor-thin and trembling as he let out breath after shuddering breath, and nobody came out to tell him that he was being loud. Nobody came out. Nobody else was awake.

It was so, _so_ early.

Techno had to get back to the cloak.

With an almost frightening, singular sense of purpose, he strode back to the bedroom to take the cloak he had looked at the day before off of the wall. Techno mindlessly bumped against the walls on his way there, let his hands grasp at the fabric as if it was the only thing that mattered, sleep-soaked eyes drinking in the sight of the scarlet wear as if it were the only thing stitching him together.

The little teasers of memories were terrible. They tried to cling to him and bite off little pieces of his soul, tried to worm their way into his heart and stay while all he had wanted to do was _look_ at things. This early, he was already overwhelmed by the atmosphere of the city as a whole, had been overtaken by even a cursory search of the things he held in the bedroom- but looking at the cloak made everything else fade into the background.

When he set it on his lap, perched on the edge of his bed, and picked up the bag he had brought with him that the other cloak rested in, his hands could barely pry open the top of the bag. Could barely pry open it and manage to get the cloak- the new cloak, the fake cloak, the true cloak in some ways- out so that it could lay next to its predecessor.

He had to take in all the little details. Piece it together. Unearth what none of the others could. _This isn’t something I paid for. Wilbur is wrong. What’s lying past those unknowingly false words? What lies behind the veil? What is there to this cloak besides- besides protection?_

If he focused, if he let everything else fade away and let himself tunnel vision-

He couldn’t let himself do that. He _couldn’t._

Techno’s hands went over his face again, pressing in enough that he could feel the edge of his fingernails, could let himself lean into the pressure the hands provided. He breathed in once. Let it out. Breathed in twice. Let a wheeze out with all the force of a shy, rattling wind.

What did the runes even _mean?_ What were all the little details of the stitching for? The lines weren’t completely uniform, completely neat, even though it looked like a great deal of effort and care had been put into them. At regular intervals, little stitched details bordered the unbroken line of text- something that looked like a leaf here, a little flower there. If he strained, if he let his head pound behind his eyes and scream at him with the desperation of a drowning, panicked man, he could imagine a pin-pricked hand carefully pulling one, two, three lines into existence with a careful technique.

Techno could imagine hushed tones. A warm, but quiet, atmosphere. Could imagine the filtered light of the outside world, cast in conflicting colors, bathing the room in its eternally pink-to-blue-to-cream wash in some eternal, strange mimicry of dawn as he worked.

This was made with care. With _warmth_. The garments were both originally made by Phil, he could feel it in how similar the fabrics were, but that otherworldliness clung to the stitched cloak with enough might to make him stare and shake and _think_. There was an effort that spoke of planning. An effort that spoke of care and patience and _time_.

He breathed in. Smelled a faint lavender gracing it with its presence.

Techno swung the cloak on, unable to examine the depths of its stitching without giving himself more of a headache than he already had, and reveled in how- how _safe_ he felt with it on. This was a barrier against the world in more ways than one. This was a barrier and a shield and a cloak in one, something that he could block others with, could block light out with, could block the outside world out with completely and emerge from whenever he felt safe to continue.

It was like being swaddled in a weighted blanket. Like being given a hug.

Like he was, for a moment, invincible.

He breathed in and the memories, already behind the constructed barrier, took it as opportunity to make themselves known, exposing themselves as Trojan horses that had been unwillingly accepted in the moment he had forgotten what they probably contained.

As much as the cloak’s purpose was to protect, it couldn’t protect Techno from unwanted intruders already let past his crumbled walls.

* * *

“You know, the first thing I stitched an enchantment into was a belt.”

“…A _belt._ ”

“Yeah! With the right materials, it’s pretty easy to do it on the inside. Neat enough stitching, a simple enough point to get across or just the right type of enchantment- it’s like the perfect item for someone wealthy but not, like, ‘I’m the most important child of this generational empire’ kind of wealthy or admin wealthy or leader-of-a-progenitor-server wealthy. The kind of thing that’s the talk of a family for a good year or two even though it’s easily the smallest thing most thread enchanters will be willing to do.”

“…I didn’t ask you to dump all that on me. Was just commenting on it, Teach.”

“But it’s important to know! You’ll probably be doing a few, once you give a hidden little ad somewhere for people to find your services at. And they’re actually pretty tricky! Depending on the materials, it can be harder than a bigger project for someone more wealthy, even if it takes less time. You want to know more about the job that you just agreed to learn the art of, right? Let me tell you about it, then.”

“Teach.”

“Techno.”

The piglin hybrid sighed and leaned back from where he was sprawled out in one of his own chairs, a hand lazily shading his eyes as he stared out at the cityscape beyond. It was a quiet, mild atmosphere, but he could just imagine the chaos of the world outside- trains rattling across their tracks in the parts of the city where they needed repair, far too much loud foot traffic for vehicles to gain any sort of a foothold in this world, waypoint centers crowded and full of bickering groups of people (or, simply, tired commuters).

He could imagine the tang in the air, the excitement of people ready for whatever the daily events and tournaments would throw at them today, the smell of street food and scented wares and murmurs of challenges filling the air.

The city was charged with the anticipation of those that wanted blood. That wanted lovingly sanitized carnage presented before them with a neat bow.

It was no wonder he could barely concentrate on the only other person in the room. After all, he was supposed to be at a match in an hour and a half.

“I forsee that belts will be an important part of my future,” he intoned, far too lazy to give it any kind of a heightened gravitas that would usually signify that kind of a joke. “Hard to embroider but easier given the right tools, I guess.”

“And it’s not like you even have to _take_ belt jobs, you know? There’s so much fucking…money tied up in larger orders.”

“Why take larger orders when you could make a living off of a few belts a year?”

His teacher laughed, a merry rattling little sound that carried even though they were just in the next chair over. When Techno cast his eyes over to them, they shook with more restrained laughter, sprawled out in what seemed an even lazier fashion as they held the small hoop they had been working on at their side.

“I mean, it’s not _all_ money, you know?”

…Hm.

“…Then. What is it?”

“Favors from powerful people. _Important_ people, Techno. Almost like yourself, except adding a few zeroes onto the money you have and then some.” Ah. So _that_ was the thought that was giving him anxiety.

Favors were a dangerous, dangerous thing to deal in. Techno licked his lips once, twice, thrice. His newfound teacher continued.

“There’s a lot you can do with… _favors_ like that, for the bigger pieces. A lot of those people have more say than the majority of the Hypixel admins, even cross-server, even outside of Hypixel’s sphere of influence, you know?”

“Favors. For service.”

Perhaps he was expected to owe this person a favor, for accepting their overtures of…teaching. Of apprenticeship. His name went a long ways now, after all.

“Not that different from sponsorships, eh? Except _they’re_ the ones dependent on _you_. _You’re_ the one who chooses what the favor would be. After all, they’re the ones putting their life in your hands for runes they don’t know shit about.”

That was. A way to think of it, definitely.

How many people even knew this, though? Knew how to do this art?

Would he ever know?

Did his teacher even know the exact amount?

“You already sold me on learning it the last time we met,” Techno intoned, and looked away, fingers rubbing circles on the soft, plush fabric of the chair he was in. “Just get to the point, Teach.”

“So. We’re going to build up to doing a belt.”

“Mm.”

“And it’ll take about four, five months of regular meetings to get to that point.”

“ _Hehhh?_ ”

* * *

The cloak was a blanket. A shield. A protector that was stellar in every aspect of its duty but one, faithfully guarding him as he discarded the other cloak to the floor, as he hunched over on the bed and grasped it so that it was closer, closer, closer to his skin. He steadfastly ignored the way that the outside light melted the features of his room in its interchangeable neons and pastels.

The lavender scent wasn’t strong enough. He’d have to fix that, have to get one of the bags of lavender he had packed into his bigger bag with him just in case, would have to see if there was anything extra in the apartment itself to help with the job.

The sense of safety was still enough to let him drift again even as he tiredly started to process the first memory to truly break through the gates since he had arrived there. It was fresh enough in his mind to end up with him ignoring the way that a stray stuttering breath left him, hesitant and doe-new.

The cloak was _everything_ to him in that very moment. It was his guardian and his own personal hell, an enigma that even more memories couldn’t fully explain to him, as snippets of an education too far gone from him tried to return and ended up blocked. It was a guiding hand and a gentle smile and a rough, invisible hold on the back of his neck that ordered him to keep going, keep maintaining a facade that he had no clue even existed.

The cloak was everything.

The cloak-

* * *

“I always forget how cool your place is,” Tommy mused the next morning, chugging down a full bottle of water a few seconds after shutting his mouth. Techno watched him- watched how his messy, tangled hair was never given a cursory run through with a hand, watched how his eyes stayed wide and childish, wide and curious even in the face of his mild apathy. “Like- I never really went here often, I guess? You were, uh, big on visiting rather than bein’…bein’ visited.”

Techno grunted mildly and leaned on the kitchen island, embroidered cloak wrapped around him as he let his thumb travel in soothing circles on some of the fabric. The light in the open room, still indistinguishable between night and day, kept casting the room in its near-pastel shades. He watched as a cream color fought for supremacy over one side of Tommy’s face before being defeated by a gentle cyan.

He was exhausted. Sleep hadn’t come any easier the rest of the night, even though the cloak had blanketed him.

“I’d kill to have it! Especially having this place on Dream’s server, wow, is every place pretty shitty- everything works, but, like, damn. Living in a ravine, you know, fuckin’ sucks…”

Techno’s lips twitched downwards, but he was distracted by a _thump,_ the sound of someone bumping into a wall- and when he looked over Tommy’s shoulder he could see a half-asleep Wilbur nearly knocking everything over in his struggling rollercoaster of a path, a yawn hidden behind one hand as he waved with the other.

“You could be a little more careful, Wil,” the hybrid said dryly, standing up straight and letting go of his cloak so he could turn and root through the cabinets, the fridge, the pantry once more with only a fraction of his mind on the task.

_ What’s easy to make, what can be eaten on the spot, what had Tommy been eating a second ago, again… _

“ _Fuck_ mornings,” his older brother declared, and Techno hummed, mild and unprovocative as he finally found things- something that said it was cereal (but fancy), some milk, a bowl. He put them on the counter as Wilbur slid into a seat. “They fuckin’- fuckin’ _suck,_ man, and that bed’s too comfy to just leave, so I kept telling myself _Wil, five more minutes…Wil, five more minutes…_ and now it’s-”

He looked to Techno, a question clear in his eyes.

Techno shrugged. “Dunno.”

“…Just look at the oven clock?”

Ah. Right. Ovens had clocks. He had looked at one in the middle of the night, as much as it looked just the same as now. He turned, just a bit, and peered over at the little screen.

“Ten forty-si…” He paused. “…Wait. Don’t your, uh, communicators tell the time?”

He turned to push some fallen hair out of his face and behind his ear. Stared at Wilbur, who looked ready to sweat all of his moisture out onto the floor, with a somewhat blank gaze. Even Tommy threw a little side-eye at Wilbur.

“…Yeah, uh, _anyways_ -”

“ _Hah,_ Techno, Wil can’t even tell time with his communicator, apparently, and can’t even take a few steps so he could look around you at the clock there-”

“SO,” Wilbur cheerily interrupted with a clap, “Techno, why’re you wearin’ your cloak?”

Techno stilled from where he stood, hand grasping a small teabag to make lavender tea with. His eyes re-met Wilbur’s. He stared, adjusted the cloak around his shoulders, and made himself busy with what he had. Water in the kettle? Perfect. Turn it on, which was simple enough- alright.

He hoped that Wilbur didn’t notice-

“Wait, is that your older cloak?”

“That,” he said slowly, almost feeling like his mouth was full of cotton with how his words turned awkward behind his tusks, “is none of your business.”

“…Really.”

“ _Really,_ ” he repeated, resolute, and gave himself the task of thoroughly ignoring everything Wilbur said until the man started to make and eat some food- this time, some cereal. Miraculously, he succeeded in his quest to not be bothered- even with Wilbur’s muttering and moaning and whining paired with Tommy’s confused ‘I-wasn’t-listening-what’s-going-on’ tone- and only let the extent of his responses be a mild grunt.

Eventually, Wilbur decided that the more worthy endeavor was eating his damned food. It made Techno slump in relief when, after a few minutes, he could finally abscond a bit further away off into the living room with his mug of tea, slump in one of the chairs clearly meant more for comfort, and drink his tea in peace.

It wasn’t like his sleep had been plagued with dreams, though, not at all. No memories to be found there. It wasn’t as if the cloak currently around his shoulders had been both a blessing and a curse for the rest of the night- protection from thoughts of much else, but it had put an itch into his hand to pick up a needle and thread, had kept him up with restless legs and bleary eyes. It had made him try and think of memories still too far gone, the only transmittable feelings being those of work, of strained patience, of the prick of a needle against a finger just hard enough to make him jolt.

He drank his tea. Tried to rub the sleep more completely from his eyes. Failed.

But at least his brothers were awake, and already either chatting away somewhat quietly over at the row of stools provided or just…laughing to themselves at whatever the hell was so funny on their communicators.

For his part, Techno rolled his shoulders, closed his eyes for a second, and breathed. Thought of lavender, thought of roses, thought of the rich smell of dirt the day after it rained, the petrichor that had saturated the world of their home just after the storm in which he had talked to Phil.

Nothing quite _fit_ right, here. The puzzle pieces weren’t as tidy and neat as they had been at Phil’s, although it wasn’t like the jigsaw puzzle had exactly been all nice and lovely back there, either. But…at least things made more sense than a figure he still couldn’t pair a name to teaching him…something. Teaching him _thread enchantment,_ as much as he could totally understand the concept of it, yes, of course. Or…or bringing to mind figures in suits that only reminded him of having to straighten his back, of having to play nice and give the barest semblance of a smile with a pen tight in his hands and forced to be…be…

Forced to be _something_.

He couldn’t quite figure out what that _something_ was.

But it was fine. That ribbon running through his life could still be explored with a slow patience. He could…he could go along just fine, trying to remember as much as he could without getting swept up by it all or overwhelmed by just a small part of what he already knew.

It didn’t matter if Techno looked at a part of the apartment and had to fight off a memory that felt too charged with emotion for him to handle. It wasn’t as if he ran his hand along the fabric of one of the more uncomfortable seats, rough and scratchy, and hummed as it brought to mind meetings and suits and a cloak worn less as a safety blanket and more like a suit of armor.

He breathed in once more. Took another long, scalding sip of the beloved tea, the tea that grounded him, the tea that kept him in the moment, and looked out over the cityscape.

Ignored that the angle he was viewing the city below at kept pushing sounds and smells and ideas at him of a life that he wasn’t completely ready to let in past his walls. Ignored that the sound of other people in his apartment, brothers or not, brought back just as much.

Techno breathed in. Let it out.

This was fine.

He’d be fine.

He just had to finish the tea, first. Yes. Everything was good in the world.

Techno closed his eyes and let himself ride that precious lavender high off into the morning atmosphere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much to say, i suppose. make sure to drink water. take care of yourself. fun fact, i have a heatable plushie coming in tomorrow with a bag that smells like lavender. and i don't actually 100% know what lavender smells like. anyhow. have a nice night!
> 
> if you'd like rare fun other techno content from me, i did a oneshot the other day called "a place beyond the sun". shameless plug is a shameless plug.
> 
> cya in due time.


	17. xvii. i'll be the blood if you'll be the bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All three of them start to get properly adjusted to the apartment, to the lights, to this new space. Techno walks over the dead bodies of his past life. Tommy and Wilbur decide that a few doses of popular television are great for developing memories.
> 
> (Or: There are parts of reality that are masked through the system on their way to television and consumer eyes, and it's so, so easy for Techno to see what's left out.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "wolves without teeth" by of monsters and men]
> 
> slight tw for minor...body horror? some descriptiveness of similar topics.

It was the little things that hit him.

It was the tilt of Wilbur’s head as the outside light caught his jawline, casting him in an unearthly light that seemed as if he was out of a dream. It was the way that Tommy laughed, bent at the waist on his way to the couch at some stupid thing that Wilbur snarked about. It was the way that his own breath caught at the sight, the familiar mixed with the unfamiliar in such a way that he was gently caught off guard instead of violently thrown off course.

It was the way that they were almost just…letting him grow accustomed to the space.

Techno drifted, focused on his environment and very much there but not bothering to chat. He was almost like a ghost, the first few days- sometimes, he spoke to his brothers but otherwise he just let everything wash over him. His brothers…Techno had no clue if they were annoyed by his lingering, by the way that he’d come in and out of their conversational sphere with a quiet hum. Perhaps they were unsettled. Concerned. But he still breathed in, let his fingers trace the lines that the past him carved into this space long ago, and tried to take it all in without crumpling like a paper bag in the process.

That tile, right over there in the kitchen, was where he had first tried to mix a drink and fucked it all up because he added too much sugar. Over in that spot, clean and spotless now, a stainless steel tumbler had been shaken by unprofessional hands as a video had played in the back of his mind. The drink had been fruity. _Floral,_ even, as an afternote. He hadn’t been able to taste the alcohol until it clung to him the morning after, passed out alone on the floor and with some strange murmur from whatever had autoplayed later still letting him know something was playing, completely warped from what he had started on.

That little leather thing laying on his desk had been a thimble that he had used, once, over and over again until it was too worn down to be acceptable. The memories associated it wouldn’t come, but once again he felt the pricking of a finger, the hiss as a very small amount of blood welled up, the sound of laughter as a companion- as his teacher- poked a bit of fun at him.

A little folder that held papers he couldn’t understand was in a little corner of his desk drawer. Rooting around with no aim, he had found it and pulled it out to find legalese that he couldn’t understand, not quite- but there were handwritten notes slapped on, little post-it notes that were messy chicken-scratch annotations from a different age. He swiped a thumb over them, the ink too long dry to even dream of smudging, and thought of what kind of an atmosphere within the spectator sport of killing would need folders of files just for legal speak.

He thought of a tricky smile. The smell of blood. A _congratulations_ in a honeyed voice too sweet to be real.

Techno tucked the folder back away and refused to think of it further.

He and his brothers spoke with Phil every night. It was the one moment, it seemed, when they were all together no matter what- the three of them all orbited each other in the day and in the night, sure, but it was at dinner that Wilbur would project what was on his communicator a little larger, Phil’s smile beaming out at them all.

He never asked outright what Techno remembered. Sometimes Tommy did that, occasionally Wilbur. They still backed off when he grunted, sure, but they still asked and wanted to know what made him a bit unfocused one moment, clarity showing more in the next. Phil- Phil didn’t do that. He talked on and on about how he was taking care of Techno’s crops, of Tommy’s bees, of Wilbur’s instruments. He talked about going to fish in drizzling rain without setting up an umbrella and happily being soaked at the end of the day.

In stumbling words, phrases too awkward for him to say without them getting mauled by his tusks and lips, unpracticed and disorganized as a result, Techno told him- and, by extension, Wil and Tommy- details of a faintly remembered life snippet by snippet.

“I- there were. A lot of meetings.” An uncomfortable tug at his cape. “A lot of meetings.”

Another: “I think a lot of the, uh. Wine bottles were ones gifted to me.” A taste of bitterness on the tongue. “By people I didn’t care much about.”

“You can get rid of them, you know,” Phil said, all gentle and warm. “You don’t have to keep anything you don’t want.” There was an understanding in those words that scared him. An understanding of the subject that even Techno didn’t have, although Phil’s gaze seemed skewed by…by, presumably, whatever the Techno of another life had deigned to tell him.

He had no way to know how much his siblings all knew about him from before.

“…Maybe.”

Not a one of the bottles was discarded at the end of the day. He opened one with Wilbur and let Tommy bitch and moan in the background as they sipped at it, as Techno debated taking the whole bottle and downing it all at once.

Another day, another conversation with Phil, blood coating the back of his thoughts and painting them all a rusted red that haunted him throughout the day: “…There are a lot of people that come here to…to just fight.”

“Yeah, Tech?”

“…They go through so much,” he said, something unknowable to himself coloring his voice, “just to get nothing in the end.”

“…Yeah, Tech.”

It was- hard. In the fog of recollection, even though they mostly left him to his own devices, sometimes Wilbur and Tommy did something together and waved Techno over, not demanding but…just excited enough to make him come over out of mild interest.

They showed him… _huh_.

“This is the remote,” he murmured, “for a…television.”

If Techno remembered correctly, he had looked at it that first night here- or something like that, had put it somewhere else and promptly forgot about it. Now, days later, he stared at it and then looked back at both of his brothers, a question on his lips, before-

“Yeah! Come here, we’ll show you how to use it, without the communicator you always had it’s pretty hard to use it without a remote- wanna sit down with us?”

His teeth worried at his bottom lip. Techno stood there, cloak drawn close as they tugged at him- but it was only a token resistance. They made him slot between the two of them as Tommy leaned on him- on the arm that had been hurt by Phil what seemed like simultaneously a year or a day old, sore and aching and still hurting with pressure but it was _fine,_ really- and showed him the controls.

A click of a button turned a projected screen on in the air, a crackle of floating light before a crisp image appeared before them, so different from the light-backed screen that was tangible, size limited by concrete boundaries in Phil’s home. It was dubious, just as communicators still mildly puzzled Techno- with a click of a button, Tommy could bring the screen closer or further away, another button changing its scale ever so slightly from where it floated.

Techno thought he rather preferred Phil’s television. He didn’t mention it, though- not with Tommy’s sheer enthusiasm, or the way that Wilbur smiled at them and sat back like someone watching a television show of their own, making dry cracks at their actions while Techno sat there and soaked up all of the information, quiet and attentive and unobtrusive.

They turned it on. Figured out how to re-attune it to public and private channels. Synced it up once again to the person whose residence it was- although it seemed to take a bit, with no communicator on him.

Techno decided to ask what the holdup was about in his flat voice. Tommy just snorted right back at him.

“I mean, it’s, like, looking for proof of who you are- and a communicator does, uh, a lot of that, I think? Which is why they’re normally meant to be tethered to a person through some sort of, uh, black- black magic admin fuckery?”

 _‘Black magic admin fuckery’._ That was a new phrase.

“But, like. You don’t have a communicator, so- just a second-”

A beat later, the screen opened with options flashing across it one by one to fill its form, and Techno flinched with the sheer energy and force of which the different shows and advertisements and bits and bobs blinding his vision appeared before him. It seemed normal to Tommy and Wilbur, although Wilbur muttered something about just how _many_ options they were- and then his eyes caught _it_.

The center of the screen held a little box just for- for ‘public access tournaments’. Another box for ones shown for smaller audiences, ones that were apparently locked behind some kind of a ‘rank’ barrier that they bypassed through…well. He figured that they probably had whatever rank was needed.

There were TV shows, movies, documentaries, even what seemed to be a section for self-produced media and livestreamed people and events- but what held center stage were those tournaments that made his heart skip a beat, almost frantic in its momentary alarm.

“Oh- are these, like, reruns?”

He glanced over at his younger brother’s annoyed voice. Tommy pursed his lips, flicking through the Hypixel options at a speed that almost scared Techno. “Sky Wars, Blitz, Duels…their Crown Challenges, their races, their Hunts…their Battle Royales, back to Sky Wars…”

“Just _choose something,_ ” Wilbur groaned. “Does it even matter if it was from last night or something? Not like you even _watched_ anything last night!”

“Hey- I’ll have you know, in fact, that I was watching some of the Blitz matches last night on my communicator-”

“ _Then don’t pick Blitz!_ ”

“But Blitz is good, man-”

“Then pick Blitz! Holy _shit!_ ”

“Just pick something,” Techno said, voice dry as ash as he sat there, sandwiched between the two. His thumb began to run circles on the thin throw blanket that Wilbur threw over them haphazardly, soft and comforting in the repetition as his brothers bickered.

He didn’t _care_ what they picked. They wanted to watch _something_ , though, so he’d rather actually start to watch something rather than go on for another few minutes without anything going. Tournaments, even though he didn’t really care to watch fighting, documentaries that looked interesting, drama television- something. Anything. _Really_.

Tommy sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and rolled his eyes with all the derision a teenager could throw at someone. “Fine- Battle Royale’s good enough. Techno- Battle Royale, Hunger Games, Survival Games, whatever, it’s all the same thing no matter what the programs say. But at least this one’s new and it’s more exciting than just…duels.”

The screen paused before it flickered and opened up with a header to a camera overlooking a wide expanse of land, part forest and part a crumbling imitation of a city. Something about it made Techno want to stand up straight- there was an eeriness to it all, especially as the camera swooped on in, navigating towards the center of the stage and dodging wildlife (Fake? Real? Who knew?) and trees all the while.

 _Those cameras are all moved by admin handiwork,_ something internal murmured. _Admin-crafted tools utilized by the entertainment centers for perfect shots and high-quality bloodbaths. Wasteful._

What was wasteful when they were, presumably, in a city half-blessed by the work of hundreds of admins to keep it running? What was wasteful when another part of him thought faintly on the facts trying to surface in his head that told him the server was a work of art, something self-sustainable and on the bleeding edge of technology, that they could spare the power to do something like show off all these things in such extravagant ways-

His head was hurting.

He’d think on it later.

…Even he didn’t completely understand what he was- or would be- mulling over.

Instead of getting lost in his own world and getting a worse headache, a tug from Tommy at his arm brought him back to reality. On the marble-clean projection, the camera led them straight to the center of the arena after detouring to show them what seemed to be popular spots to ambush, or kill, or look over the rest of the area- and hovered over a place where people stood in a ring formation, all equally spaced around the center of the area.

Chests stood there, right in the very center. Almost as if he were there, he could identify their signifying marks as made for the competition- almost perfectly carved oak wood chests, presumably a small logo for the server’s administration etched on the top. He could imagine the delicate touch, probably hand-carved by some small business, the ‘H’ carefully carved with flourishes on top even though the haze it took to focus.

Hypixel.

Perhaps it was better to pay attention to the competitors. There would be less memories there, surely.

Everyone in their little holes had no armor. No weapons. They wore expressions of excitement or anticipation or _fear_ \- and it zoomed in on some of their faces as a voiceover played, a commentator murmuring their qualifications, their dreams, their desires to win. One of them pushed up their glasses, wide-eyed and their gaze clearly flickering between nearby competitors, judging them acutely. When it switched to the view of another, they were cold-faced- a scar curled around their jaw, thin and delicate in the way it twisted, and Techno licked his lips and thought of the few scars he bore on his face.

Thought of the many that twisted their way back down and hid under his concealing clothing.

There was an announcer, yes, he had been thinking of them a second ago. Their words trickled down the back of his mind, Techno trying to ignore them but unable to completely forget what was being said- something that struck a bell in his memories.

Something he had heard countless times before, some variant of this speech. It seemed to boil down to a few things- a number of competitors, highlighting those to look out for beyond their little dreams, shouting out a few advertisements along the way, a finishing wish that the spectators enjoyed the show.

Finally, a delightful opening cry to incite a bloodbath.

Somewhere, there had been a crowd when it had been recorded earlier. Wherever this was, people had been transported to it to watch from some distance overhead, and their frenzied cries layered over the screams of some of the competitors as their confinements vanished into thin air.

A few of the competitors sprinted towards the pile of chests in the center. Others spun on a dime and dashed outwards without even trying to fight for what others were already clawing at each other over. Something inside of Techno just knew that the chests the camera had seen on the path to the center would have, at least, decent items for the people to try and build themselves up with- they wouldn’t be completely outmatched, even if what was in the center was better on average.

And then came the blood.

_ Hah. _

One person dug a sword out of a chest only to plunge it into the chest of someone that lunged at them, both of their expressions a hellish mix of the desperate nature the circumstances caused and the exhilaration that they brought along by adrenaline.

A plunge, a twist-

There was now one less competitor in the race, coughing up blood and falling to the ground. Techno watched the screen, unable to look away, as they couldn’t pick themselves back up, bleeding out as chaos continued to rage on around them.

The blood was- simple. There was nothing of extreme gore. There was only a clean cut and clean blood and the sight of them gasping before the camera cut away organically.

His lip curled.

Tommy sighed and flicked to another perspective from all the small little cameras following the competitors from the sky. His little brother _cheered,_ of all things, when an arrow pierced someone’s skull and sent them crumpling to the ground, their makeshift partner shot down from behind a second later.

Another change, this time to a camera just looking passively on a part of the arena just out of the center from above. Techno couldn’t stop the unsettled feeling in his chest when the competitor that had grabbed a decent sword and got the first kill took out another person with glee, twisting the blade past the armorless defender’s shirt and into their stomach to let blood fly.

…All he could see was that same damned blood.

All Techno could see, all he and his brothers could see was blood and the panicked faces of those dying- but with that wide camera view zooming in, Techno’s mind overlayed where guts could be, where the intestines would have been with the force of that blow, the sheer power of what seemed to be an enchanted sword slicing through someone and getting a too-crisp slice through someone to down them.

If he focused past the way his fingers wanted to twitch around a sword hilt that wasn’t there, he could see the finer details of the blood that wasn’t shown. Could see twitching from bodies that had stilled a second or two ago, far too fast and simple, on the actual cameras.

He could smell the blood as if he were _there,_ standing over the body just like that person, the only one now who hadn’t run off as far as they could from the center. He could only watch as they stole items from those they or others who were now gone had killed, looted the chests of whatever they had left-

* * *

Techno licked his lips, let his axe fall to his side, and examined the carnage that was the center of the storm around him.

 _Not bad,_ he thought distantly, comparing body count to the number of pedestals that everyone had started on. His cloak wrapped itself around him in its protective embrace, not even a tear in it as he stepped past bodies, rooted around for a potion that one had managed to grab and not break, leaned down to grasp a bow that someone had at their side and slung it onto his back.

The hybrid took the helmet off of a woman that stared lifelessly back at him, eyes glazed over with her head neatly removed from her body a foot away.

It had been his axe that had torn through that neck only a minute or two ago.

He looked at her for another second. Thought of the fact that, if he had let her live, she would have either stabbed him in the back or run, making him or someone else kill her later. _Wasting time._

It was a mercy, to be killed by Technoblade at the beginning instead of being hunted like an unholy rabid dog that had to be put down. To be killed quickly instead of sniffed down in unhurried paces, a frown on the champion’s face as the spectators ghosted his steps with their cameras and multiple bird’s eye views.

Once upon a time, perhaps, he had been like these people, had been _prey_ \- but he hadn’t. Hadn’t ever been prey, not really.

Not at all.

Turned out, practice fighting against monsters and against your older brothers- and, most of all, piglins that wanted you dead- could do a hell of a lot for a young teen trying to make it in the world, proving themselves in the one language people of any realm would understand.

Violence.

He breathed in. Let it out.

There had been a time when he was weak. Sure. He had been a child, panicked, on the valleys and plains and cliffs of a small server’s Nether realm, and had to claw himself up from nothing before Phil found him.

That, though, had been years ago.

 _Now,_ he was the unbeatable Techno. He was the Blade, he was the Blood God, he was the arbiter of those that chose to enter Hypixel and dared to climb up to the top. He was sure that the announcers were still listing off this victory and that, extolling his virtues to even those outside of Hypixel’s sphere of influence with every additional win he swept- and that was a honor that made him wryly smile, somewhat, to be reminded of.

Now, he was a name that even small servers could know.

That even servers that needed to go through multiple connections from Hypixel to get to physically could know of him.

The smile soon faded.

His fame was all for killing, after all, and it was a double-edged sw-

Techno’s nostrils flared a little, the senses of a Piglin hybrid kicked in yet again to let him hear the snap of a twig.

There. Blood. _Fresh._

He turned to look at the edge of the center of the arena, where part of a forest crept up to be the center’s border. Someone stared back at him, their face indistinct, unremarkable against the thousands, tens of thousands that had looked at him with that exact same terrified deer-in-the-headlights expression before.

Prey, prey, _prey._

Techno hefted his axe. Let his cape act out the part as more of a blood red accessory to murder rather than a gentle scarlet clasped in the loving arms of a lavender scent. He smiled thinly for the cameras that had to be zoomed in on him, imagined the way that the crowd was roaring at that very moment at the rare sight, and started on his way forwards.

Leisurely. Not running, not just yet.

He watched them bolt.

They’d tire soon enough- and, after all, the border would start to creep back to the center soon. Eventually, they would come back to him and he would rip them apart efficiently, making just enough of a show for viewers to be fascinated- just like he had cut someone open with a cleave before, kicked someone else down in a signature move before the axe would plunge into their head, idly watched the way that their dying (and dead) bodies moved in their death throes as the cameras would zoom in.

And then people would _praise him_ for it. That was the thing, really- they would praise him for it when they never saw the fucking reality.

They would never know how organs felt in your hand when you tried to find an enchanted ring a nameless person you had murdered had picked up and dropped as they died. They would never know the exact sound hitting bone and shattering it just right would make. They would never see the reality of using your hands to snap someone’s neck or use them to gouge someone’s eyes out or dismantle them with everything you had on you, whether it was your bare hands or a weapon or something as innocent as a damned water bottle, of all things.

Techno knew that he instilled fear in those who actually met him in combat or saw him work. He passively watched people run. Passively watched others come straight at him. Could see their stares after the fact, after they had respawned, phantom pains keeping them shuddering as they stared and glared and muttered behind their back at the person that had effortlessly destroyed their hopes of winning from the very start.

He would think, staring back at them, of the way that the blood had trickled down their crumpled frames. Would think of the way that they had choked on it all as he turned his back on them to pursue someone else. He would later look at the person who had fled him today, that person at the edge of the forest, and remember how they had spooked like a startled deer a few minutes after they bolted when an arrow had hit them in the ankle, watched as they left a blood trail in their flight.

Remember how he tracked them down to find them over someone else, looting frantically even though they were crippled, trying their hardest to scavenge a body already picked over by whoever had killed the poor victim.

Replay their scream in his mind.

After the fact, after they were down for good, he nodded respectfully at them. Ignored how they had stared at him even in death. Tried to forget the way that he stared at them, axe plunged into their heaving chest and pulled out with a sickening sound.

…At least the admins were kind enough to clean his chosen clothes so he could make a few closing remarks as he always did to the audience and the media as a winner’s speech, flat and rough and uninterested but forced to play nice and pick his words carefully, mindful of how every syllable curled around his tusks and slurred if he didn’t go with something already prepared.

At least the audience still didn’t see the worst bits of gore still on his hands if they were bare, still on his face, on open bits of skin. Only those operating the cameras and cleansing it for the public could see the truth.

And he always won. _Always._ When he entered, the inevitable outcome was a stilted, short speech from him at the end.

After all, there was no escaping from Hypixel’s Blood God.

It was a simple fact of life.

_ The Blade never dies. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been under a lot of stress, lately, but this stays strong.
> 
> (by the way, the lavender plush smells too strong. it is now in quarantine while it learns to vibe and not give me a headache.)
> 
> keep yourselves safe. don't get into petty arguments over block men. one day, perhaps, if i have the muse, i'll draw something and put it in with a chapter. hmmmmm.
> 
> have a nice day.


	18. xviii. you're running lemonade at thirty-six degrees centigrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembering doesn't bring calm along with it. Techno sinks deep into his own self, heart beating doubletime. Phil provides a timely piece of advice, worlds away.
> 
> (Or: How do you pull yourself up under the weight of what you think- no, you _know_ you've done?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "dopamine.machine" by ferry]
> 
> tw for panic attacks.

_ “And it really seems like it could be a tossup! Caesura here’s a rising star in Survival Games, but will he be able to catch up in gear and kills and end up the winner above Teller, who’s already made a name for themself in Blitz as last season’s champion before looking for a sweep here?” _

Techno blinked. Looked down from the screen, ignored as it went on a wider pan while the arena’s borders started to close in, closeups on mentioned competitors popping up, and let his gaze fall to his hands.

They were shaking like branches and leaves in a terrible storm.

_ "It could be anyone’s game, though, for Avow, a total wild card, is on a rampage in the west sector of the map, looting everything they find and even eliminating a duo team on the way! It’s no telling, really-” _

He looked to the side. Saw Tommy leaning forwards, eyes locked on the game.

Looked to his other side. Wilbur seemed less enthused but still interested, splitting his time between flicking through screens on his communicator and paying attention to what was actually going on.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could see blood on his shaking hands. He clasped them tightly together before letting go. He could steady himself without going deathly still. He _could._

“Techno, Wil, look, they’re- Techno?”

Techno flinched, just a bit, from where he was halfway from bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. He offered the closest thing he could to a smile- a thin, flat line of the mouth rather than a trembling grimace- and watched as Tommy went from excitement to genuine worry.

“Everything- everything alright? Are you not a fan of the people on it, or something? The announcer? The arena?”

“The arena’s fine,” Wilbur said, dry as a desert and seemingly unsympathetic before he turned to look at them and let an arm curl around Techno’s shoulders. He gave a soft pat to Techno’s arm. “What’s going on, though?”

…Had Phil- coached them in things to ask? To say? What was going on?

He looked back up at the screen. Saw the duo that the announcer had talked about, both laid out in the corner of a building in its rubble.

Saw their wounds. Imagined what laid behind the veil that the game producers and the junior admins working with them crafted for the public, imagined that their expressions were deeper, had a hint of pain rather than of bloodthirstiness, the thread of their current lives easily snipped with the correct blow to finish them off.

He wanted to throw up.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards laid out for his own existence. He glowered and glared at the screen instead, tried to calm his jittering fingers, tried to make it so that his brothers would be less concerned about the memories hiding themselves under his tongue, waiting for an unguarded moment so they could fly free.

“I’m fine,” he managed, baring his teeth at nothing in particular as the start of a snarl rumbled in his chest. “I’m fine, I- I- I’m _fine._ ”

With _that_ performance, it was unknowable how they had realized he wasn’t, in fact, fine.

“You- you don’t- fucking _sound_ fine, though? Do you need, uh, tea or something?”

“I don’t think I want to watch this any more,” Techno managed before he closed his eyes and leaned back, tried to ignore the bodies burned into his mind. Tried to forget the image of a heavy, blood-soaked axe that he could practically feel the weight of on his back, the cloak around his shoulders in reality less of a shield and more of a prison, an accessory to countless murders that were under his belt.

(How many, in that one fight that had flashed past his mind, had fallen because of him? Could he not remember? Shards stuck and illuminated moments of it but the rest was a blur. The rest was him goring at people with his tusks if he had nothing else, picking up an axe, becoming a harbinger of the end for whoever he came across.

Had he gone into it with the expectation of being lost to the fight, the drum beat of terrified hearts searing themselves into every step he took? Had Techno entered the match already knowing the steps of the tango required by these events and let himself fly free, contained by the rules of the match but forever free to lose himself and give it a flourish?

Why, in that memory, had he not felt disgust curling in his chest as he went through with his actions?

What was the fucking _context?_ )

“Tech-“

“I don’t- I can’t- I can’t watch this any more,” he gasped out in the sudden quiet. “Turn it off, turn- turn-” Gods, his words were running into each other haphazardly, blurring together more and more with every syllable but he couldn’t find it in him to care- “I don’t want to hear that voice, I can’t listen to it, I _can’t,_ can’t- can’t _watch_ \- find something _else-_ ”

And then: silence.

Sweet, blissful silence.

_ Salvation. _

Techno breathed in. Out. Let the quiet wash over him and stop the shaking, gentling it from a violent almost-spasming into a soft, constant tremble. His breathing wasn’t as reliable, short and long in staggering moments, but- but-

Things were better. Things had to be better, or he wouldn’t know how to pick up the pieces of himself yet again.

“…Techno?”

Someone was saying his voice. He reached up to press the heel of his palm into his eyes a second later, unwilling to even open them and stare his brothers down. He hunched forwards and let his body snap to that spot, let himself struggle to breathe.

There was a hand on his back. It grounded him to that spot, that tentative, fluttering touch- and while it almost snapped that thread keeping him there all the same, the link to the rest of the world stayed, even if it was stretched taut. Everything was there. With every second that passed, more of the world trickled in- a body almost pressed to his side. A blanket over his lap. The breathing of his brothers.

The breathing of those he _remembered_ as his brothers, at least. There was that distinction to make.

“Techno, what…is everything alright?”

He didn’t laugh. Of course he didn’t- but his shoulders shook in an aborted snort, the only sound leaving him being that of a sharp, shuddering exhale.

“Tommy, I- of _course_ he’s not alright, don’t be a dick-“

“I know that, but it- it doesn’t hurt to ask, prick-“

“Yes,” he choked out, garbled around the thickness of the ended panic, halted from coming out clear by the way he stopped caring about the tusks. “Yes. Am fine.”

“Techno…”

He shook his head. A snort finally came out, all proper and nice and vicious- just the way it should be- and he took his hands off of his face so that he could rub at his eyes a bit more, could rest his arms afterward more firmly on his legs for support.

There was a bit of a hazy image pressed into his eyes from those palms. Blinking it away went…rather poorly, if he was being honest, but it was bearable. It wasn’t as if he could see those bodies or anything, staring at him as if he were at fault for something- or an angry face, or a mauled face, or an emotionless one in death throes, gore embracing their frame like a loving work of art-

Well, he could see them. That wasn’t ideal.

Techno blinked again, and the image impressed onto his eyes was back to what he would expect- a slight alteration to how he viewed the world, almost as if there was a bruise in the middle of the air.

He stared at the sofa. At the rug, plush and soft to the touch (not grass, never grass, but an almost comforting alternative in front of where he sat). At his bare feet and the strange cross between human and not human that they were- odd toes, all hardened and oddly shaped.

Able to feel the rug just as well as he could feel dirt and grass back home.

At what he _called_ his home.

“Fine,” he repeated, unexpectedly harsh and loud- and he flinched back. Corrected his voice, a bit. Let himself go back to being slow with his words, go back to picking them out like how he seemed to be mulling over everything else nowadays, always fucking _mulling_ \- “I’m…it’s. Nothing. I swear. It’s nothing.”

“…Do you want me to call Phil?” Wilbur’s voice filtered in, unexpectedly gentle, unexpectedly cautious as if he were soothing a wild beast.

…Did Techno seem wild? A beast? A _mob?_ A piglin- or did he just seem sad and spooked?

He let his eyes drift over, back to Wil’s face. Clenched his fists tight, tried to not let his fingertips and nails wound his palms in their herculean effort- and ignored when they still drew blood anyways. The sting, for a second, brought him closer to reality.

Wilbur stared back at him, looking open and without reservation- a far cry from the angry and panicked words thrown his way that he had first been subjected to at the start of their recent cohabitation. This Wilbur…was he the same Wilbur as before?

Was this Wilbur talking to a beast, to a stranger, or to the Techno he remembered from the past? Was this Wilbur talking to some odd hybrid of the two, the strange abomination that Techno had become, memories and hope and pain in one aching bundle?

…No. That wasn’t what he had to focus on. That wasn’t what he _wanted_ to focus on, even- it was a distraction from the blood and guts and horror, sure, the pondering that his mine was drifting back to- but it wasn’t a _nice_ distraction. It would only make things worse if he spent too long picking it over.

“Techno. Techno, do you want me to call him? Give you my communicator for a little bit?” Slow. Quiet. Gentle. A figure that tried to soothe more than they tried to tease, a coin long since flipped.

His mind struggled to focus on the thought, drawn in branching directions rather than staying at that one thought, different from what he was almost entirely consumed by. His thoughts wanted to form so many daisy-chains that he couldn’t come back and focus- but he had to focus. He _had to_. After all, what use was he if he didn’t?

So he breathed. He took it all in and breathed in and breathed out once, twice, thrice more, trying to clear the heavy fog in his mind and fucking focus.

Phil. Calling Phil. Wilbur was offering to call Phil and let him talk with his oldest brother about it instead of- instead of…

Instead of becoming uncomfortable as he spilled his heart out in front of his other siblings. They were fine with him leaving and- and just talking with Phil.

Oh.

Now that he could stick to thoughts for more than a few bare seconds- was there a hurt he saw in Wilbur’s eyes? Was there a hurt that he couldn’t identify before in the weave of his brother’s emotions just like there was some kind of hurt in Tommy, one that spoke of a wound at the fact that he was more open with Phil than he was with them?

More importantly, did he actually care about their hurt at this moment?

…No. No, he didn’t care, not upon a quick reflection. Phil seemed better to talk to and break open in front of than them- apparently he had talked blood and fighting and death extensively with Phil before. Even in this reality, Phil knew more than they did. He could handle it better

Phil knew- knew- knew at least _some_ of what he was dealing with, here. From the slight pain and confusion shown by Wilbur, from the murky confusion in Tommy’s soft mutters in the background- he hadn’t exactly told them a lot. Not before, and certainly not now.

The thread of Hypixel didn’t run as strongly through their lives as it did Techno’s. As it did Phil’s, by associating so strongly with his worries and his life. From being the one who jumped as many hurdles as he could to even get to his island to find him in the first place.

“ _Please_ ,” he choked out after dragging himself through the fog, staggering to his feet and almost falling a second later, finding unsteady footing as he stared Wilbur down. “Com- I- communicator. Phil. Please. I need to…need to talk to him.”

He didn’t so much as look in the direction of the television behind him. Instead, he fixated on his older brother- and when the communicator was finally fished out, a few options swiped through and tapped midair, a small handheld projection with its connected base handed over- Techno blinked wildly and fled, cloak around him both as a protector and as the very thing trying to kill him and choke him out in its sheer vibrant red.

The line rung. He navigated through the living room, skirting the side and darting through the kitchen to reach the door that held his bedroom behind it, throwing the door open and nearly slamming it behind him in his haste.

It caught the cloak as it closed, nearly sending him sprawling out- but he shrugged off the cape and let it stay within the door’s greedy hold, gasped at the jolt of panic it gave him when it shed off of him, and collapsed on the hard floor to stare at the projection in front of him. The base of the communicator cool and firm in his hands. Grounding. Calming. The projection kept on with its idle buzzing.

One second. Two. Another few.

And then- the projection _opened._ It seemed that the- the projection had requested to converse in a video format, too, something that he didn’t entirely get but- but-

But it was Phil, and he was there, and the final tether to keep him in the world re-solidified right in front of him.

“Hey, mate, what’re you- Techno? Is everything alright?”

And Phil, despite everything, was a tether stronger than some thread- he was a symbol of safety just as strong as the cloak, if not moreso.

Everything in Techno’s head all mixed together. Phil- Hypixel- his brothers- the killings, the guts, the gore, everything that made him want to choke and scream and _shatter_ \- and he couldn’t help but cover his face up again with the projector on the floor, well aware of just how _shitty_ he looked. Soon enough, his hair would probably join his mess of a face.

“Techno, speak to me, what-”

“We spoke- about- about- killing. Before.” Fuck a proper voice. There was no problem with going back to where there was a slight muffled haze to the words. With going back to where he was spilling everything out because Phil wouldn’t _care_ , Phil would _understand_ and _see_. “But- I- they- these people, these people here kill for _sport,_ ” he spat out, uncaring of just how much the vehemence in his voice seeped into his frame as he lowered his hands, as he stared Phil down and tried not to cry harder than the bits slipping out as he talked.

“Phil, I- they kill each other for _sport?_ And they, they _like it?_ We- we talked about it, but- but they act like nothing’s happened and people like watching this and I- I think I remember a bit of it, where- where-”

“You can slow down here, mate, okay?” His mind ground to a halt, just for a second. “You’re fine. You’re _safe_. Take your time, Techno.”

Taking his time. Hah. Yes.

Fine, he could try.

“I…” He licked his lips. Almost grumbled at his tusks sort of getting in the way yet _again_. “…People,” he said slowly, searching around for the right words as if he were on the worst scavenger hunt ever. “…People like the fighting. But. But all of these fighting games are killing, not. Fighting. People die. And die. And _die._ ”

Techno paused. Mulled over the words yet again, appreciative for what had to be the millionth time of the way that Phil wasn’t trying to answer what he had already said.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, the thinking already working wonders to calm him down, “I don’t…I don’t know why people. _Like_ it. I can…I can remember parts of it? We were watching one of the games. One where there’s chests in the middle and around and the border closes in. And. And. It’s not…”

Where were the right words? He couldn’t find them, but- no. No, he _did_ have the words. They were right _there,_ he thought. The words were definitely there, it just took an extra second for him to find. He had never spoken this much at once in the past few days- not to mention how heavy the topic was.

He was doing fine. He had to be doing fine.

He had to.

“It’s not the same,” he finally said, “the…show. Compared to what it _is_. Spectators see…see red. Just see blood. I see. Organs. Muscle. Guts.” He gestured with his hand a little bit as if to get Phil to magically see what he saw, almost sick with himself that he was doing so. “And I was the cause of…a lot of it.”

His mouth twisted. He refused to look at whatever expression Phil was making behind that screen, a jump away in a server that he couldn’t leave to hug Techno in. “It’s…they die. And. And they act like everything’s fine just because they…come back. Doesn’t matter. But it does. Phil. I. It _does_ matter,” he stressed, almost desperate to see that Phil was getting his point, not missing it in the way that the exact words implied. “It _does_.”

Silence.

He couldn’t hear anything from the living room, not like he could when there was something moderately loud going on. He could hear the faint sounds of the city below, sure. Could hear a few chirps from Phil’s end- and when he looked, he could see Phil with a twist to his mouth, thoughtful but not completely set on something.

He was outside, sitting at the docks as an evening set in his world. Techno was faintly sure that he had just caught a fish- that had to have been what caused the delay in answering.

Phil looked… _frustrated_ by something.

Techno gladly gave him his time to respond.

“I tried a few of the games on this server, once,” he finally said, looking as if he were choosing his words just as much as Techno had been. “I couldn’t…stomach it. I think more like a person on a server like the one I have now, just like you know, and I…death hits _differently_ if you ever participate in or heavily watch those games. Or if you’re in a realm where you have the very real risk of dying through combat or not. I think…we talked about it a bit, on the docks. It’s different for those from cities that don’t have fighting and wounds attached to death so…firmly in their mind.”

Phil sighed. “Techno, mate, I…I get you,” he finally said. “I don’t like watching the matches. Makes me think they’ve _actually_ died, for a second there. When I played those games I almost forgot I was in a world that had respawning, you know? But…people like it. Like watching the combat.” He chuckled. There was no humor in it. “Wil and Tommy like that kind of thing, the televised fights. They’ve never really _been_ fighters, even if they sometimes help with the monsters. Death doesn’t…” He waved a hand. “ _Click_ the same way for them. Doesn’t help that, somehow, respawning exists on the server they’ve been frequenting lately.”

Respawning.

On a small server.

Even though he didn’t have all the pieces, had forgotten other facts of how the worlds worked- _that_ very fact left a strange taste in his mouth.

“Why,” he said to Phil, not expecting any answer even close to satisfactory, “did I go here? While Wilbur and Tommy… _didn’t,_ not _really?_ ” His mouth twisted just a bit. “Why did I go _here?_ I don’t…I don’t like this. The killing. The…I…”

“I think you find part of that in what we talked about before,” Phil said, and Techno wanted to cry because of how he seemed to genuinely be considering the issue from all angles- but of course he didn’t cry. “Protecting others. Learning how to do that, and keeping yourself up to date on…anything that could happen. You don’t want to have the worst happen, you know? But…you already know I’d say that bit.”

Yes, he did. Even if it hadn’t been at the front of his mind lately, he hadn’t forgotten all of that thoughtfulness that Phil had slowly come out with on the docks.

“…But Hypixel was a touchy subject for you,” he finally said, “even…before. I can’t answer a lot of what you want to know about it. I have guesses, but…I don’t want you to go off of those. That’s just not. Healthy.”

His stomach sank.

“Then…”

“Then I can’t give you a satisfactory answer,” Phil finished, shaking his head regretfully from where he appeared to be sitting. “You were there a lot before we even picked up Tommy, were there before I even got this server…there’s really not all that much that’s possible to answer right now.”

Hah. Okay.

Okay, that was fine, yes, he was fine, everything was _fine-_

“Techno.”

His mind reeled back to a halt.

“Back to…back to killing. Back to dying, and death matches, and tournaments.” Phil…he almost looked defeated. Techno beat back the anxiety trying to run races in his chest. “It’s…just the way of the world, Tech. I think killing has weight. _You_ think killing has weight, just like a lot of other people from smaller servers. Just like many on larger ones do- but…people become desensitized to it, on screen. Most of them aren’t in the tournaments. _They’re_ not the ones getting killed.”

And then, the final blow:

“Techno, you _did_ kill a lot of people. And…for better or for worse, you can’t just shrug it off like others can. All you can do is stand a little straighter and try to block it off and ignore anything people say about you, and I think you did at least a _little_ bit of that, before.”

He wanted to cry again.

Phil’s eyes softened- the kind of gentleness that foretold a tragedy. “You learned to live with it,” he said, cushioning the hit that still left him reeling. “You learned to live with it. And you’ll learn to…live with it again. You don’t have to go _back_ to it, you know. You could go check out what Wil and Tommy have been doing. You could come back home. You could find a new adventure to go on.”

A sad laugh from his oldest brother. “I mean, I just want you home- but that’s not really surprising, is it? But- that’s not really what we’re talking about. You need to figure out what it means to you, Techno. Not to…the past you. The you that everyone who knew you before will be thinking about.”

Ah, yes, the tears were back.

“…Find out what everything means to you, okay? Just…be cautious. I think a lot of your memories still lack whatever’s around it, right?”

Right. Yes. Most of his Hypixel memories seemed to be about fighting, however strange and timeless the other memories seemed to be.

“Figure out the _context._ Try and find out what was _between_ the battles.” Phil reached out a hand as if to touch the projection that he had to see of Techno. Techno, still teary-eyed, reached out his own hand to try and match Phil’s.

“What,” Phil said with the emphasis of a gentle giant, “were you when you _weren’t_ fighting? What did that Techno do then? Can you find that out for me?”

A nod. Another. Another.

“…That’s good. You…you can do this, Techno.”

No response.

“…Want to hear about what I’ve done today?”

At his nod, Phil spoke- and spoke, and spoke, and spoke.

Techno fell asleep on the hard ground to the sound of his brother’s words.

He slept, perhaps, better than he ever had before. Not on the island, not in the server, not on the bed a few feet away.

Perhaps Phil’s voice was truly all he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this while at work, so hopefully it goes well.
> 
> a few days of airing out the lavender-scented plushie has gone well! it no longer gives me constant headaches!
> 
> i also hope all of you are doing well, as usual. lately, i've been working on some important stuff in real life and have also been working towards what i will do after snapshots is complete! i hope people continue to read what i do after it's done, haha. i have more stories to tell.
> 
> (also it's been cold as shit the past few days. better than the summer, at least. whew!)


	19. xix. and in the wind i'd taste the dreams of distant lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Techno of the past considers the importance of exactly how to use runes. The Techno of the present is mostly just focused, now, on getting a communicator so this whole 'remembering' thing will speed up. Wilbur and Tommy have some choice words to say on how their communicators are better by far.
> 
> (Or: Memory doesn't give you everything, and never having been killed can sometimes be a heavy burden to bear.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "the mute" by radical face]

“You don’t put thorn there, that’s meant to be- that’s not where it belongs, that’s meant to be between the aethers, Techno-“

“Well,” he said dryly, “too bad that I only have pens to write with, Teach.”

The two of them were hunched over Techno’s little island by the kitchen, staring intently at a scrappy little notebook, various threads, needles, and assorted fabrics spread across the countertop. The two of them, though, only had eyes for what Techno was scribbling onto the paper.

“I…you do know that thorn is meant to bind, right? And not to divide? I mean, sure, this is an exercise, but really…”

“Just let me go through it,” he grumbled. “I was…thinkin’ about this puzzle when I was fighting today. Sky Battle, whatever. Easy to zone out and win just as well as I did when I started. It’s not like I know all the runes-”

“Not even close-”

“But the building blocks are…” Ah, what was the right word? “The building blocks for them are…are… _interesting_. To say the least.”

“Thorn? Aether? Algiz and the rest?”

“Bind,” he said, scratching a thorn down in a corner away from his main writing. “Charge.” Aether, right next to it. “There’s not a lot to them, you said, in, uh…” He waved a hand. “Not a lot of, uh, _nuance_ to them in greater works.”

“There’s _plenty_ of nuance,” they corrected, “but their function stays the same. You’re not putting a thorn outside of an aether just to do…whatever. It belongs inside. At the center just before the aethers all come together. You can’t work the enchantment without its core, Techno.”

“But…” He hummed. Tapped the pen once, twice, grateful for the little thought puzzle his teacher gave him instead of the alternative to them not visiting: having to sit there, considering whatever fight he had been in for the millionth time that day. “I…”

Techno…stretched. Popped a joint or two, the parts of his body crackling with unused but exhausted energy all pent up from earlier in the day. He looked over a bit- and he could sense a wince from his teacher, although they didn’t show any sign of concern- but either way, they took a moment to just snort at him.

“You’re getting old, Techno,” they teased. “Joints not as good as they are every respawn, eh? Aches coming back the more you just chill out, or does comin’ back do nothing for ya anymore?”

“…Maybe I’d know if I actually did respawn.”

That earned him a peal of laughter from his teacher, and Techno only smiled blandly in response, turning back to his work with a frown, a shrug, and a small little deflection. He stared at it, at the incomplete chain of basic runes- but something about it felt _right,_ no matter what Teach was saying.

He was onto something. He _had_ to be.

“Why,” he said suddenly, changing the subject with the fervor of someone trying to chase something, “are these not quite the same runes that enchanting books and tables deal with? Why are the energies that armor and tools can get not tied to the same set of- of things? I don’t think I’ve ever seen thorn, or aether, for that matter, in whatever the standard enchantment sets are.”

“This isn’t the same kind of enchanting,” Teach said, tapping on the book before stealing his pen and scratching a few things down on the next page- one set of runes and then another, one more familiar and the other including runes that he was being taught now. “So, take these- standard runes that, while most people don’t know what they exactly say, people know what kind of enchantments they will imbue the item with. Over here, our runes- and they’re different!”

“…Why.”

“Because- and I haven’t really taught this to you yet, but maybe if you’re so convinced that’ll work, even though it goes outside of a more basic rule… _belief_ really charges them. The belief of the maker in exactly how the stitching will influence the item. The willpower and drive to make sure it’ll _work._ There were some things my, uh, own teacher and I disagreed on that worked for me. Didn’t work for them.” A pause. “…Maybe this is. The same case.”

_ “Belief.” _

What a joke.

“ _Really-_ and it’s so interesting that you might be uniting your runes with belief already, no kidding, I’ve heard that usually happens towards the end of learning, when you already have basic and intermediate thread enchantments under your belt-”

“What does belief even matter, Teach?”

They turned to him, almost eerie in their sudden silence. He stared woodenly at them, nothing coming back to him- and they sat there, locked in a silent battle, before he heard them laugh.

“I mean, Techno- if you’re making something to _protect_ , it’ll be the difference between life and death! The difference between no wounds and a serious wound, or the cloth deflecting arrows but letting blades slice through! You want to do this to _protect_ , right? Or make money, even? You can’t do it and actually succeed beyond minor enchantments unless you _believe_ in your work.”

“…Sounds fake.”

“Dwell on it,” they advised, and nodded down at the small notebook. “Finish that before I stop by next time, okay? And think on it with your old man joints. Sucks that it won’t reset on respawn, I guess.”

“Again, I never…”

“You never die. Sure, sure. Whatever the media says, huh? But _I_ know the man…” A finger reached out to tap his nose. Techno’s face wrinkled just a bit in dismay- they were a teacher and a friend, to some extent, but they weren’t _that_ close. “I know the man behind the media, huh? You can be honest.”

_ I’ve never died. Not now, not ever. The Blade never dies. _

But his Teach would never understand that.

That was fine.

There were more important things to think about, like the mannerisms of protecting through an odd form of enchantment, through runes that he hadn’t yet been allowed to fully chain on fabric.

_ Belief. _

…In some kind of an odd way, it made sense. And he hated himself for the way that he threw himself back into brainstorming, thorn and aether and ash and other basic runes tumbling on and on in his head without end.

He didn’t even notice when his mentor left.

* * *

As he came fully to, blinking in the lights that softly pulsed behind his eyes- agh, so _that_ was why he had those curtains- one thought echoed quite well in his head:

 _Really? It’s the embroidery again? It’s the thread magic again? What does_ that _have to do with anything?_

And then, a realization:

_ Between the battles. Between whatever happens. That’s a part of it. That’s…some kind of thread to try and unwind from the tapestry so I can- can look at it properly. Or is it just that I need to weave all the memories together to form some kind of a terrible tapestry? _

He opened his eyes properly and saw the city outside his window. Saw the communicator that had dropped to the floor with his own lax hands, turned off from being idle too long. If he wanted to open it up again…he’d have to find Wilbur.

But.

_ Wait. _

_ Communicators. _

They were for communication. Just like the name said. And they stored bits and bobs of information within them, right? They could store data, and his had just become broken through…something? Were there clues to his past that could be found in a communicator, or was that information gone forever?

Could a new communicator recover what was presumably old data?

Wilbur’s little disc of a device sat in front of him. Phil’s words stuck around as he stared at it, half-entranced. He still thought of thread and runes, really, he did- but what if a communicator could help with all of that? With finding the context and the mysteries behind what he already had gotten? With discovering things that had happened and ultimately figuring out the deal with the thread enchantments, or the circumstances around him staying in Hypixel for so long, or just any miscellaneous details of his life that his brothers wouldn’t know?

…There was a step to take if he wanted that to happen. It was obvious. It was clear, given a few seconds of thought. He didn’t want to do it at all, given the fact he’d rather stay in his room, in his apartment and find all of his memories here until he had to go back, but the reality of everything was staring him in the face just like the billboard his eyes drifted up to see.

(Some kind of a new drama show about gladiators. Thanks, but no.)

He looked back down.

Things would probably get worse if he stayed here, doing…well, nothing. His brothers could just end up uncovering what he would rather have forever left in shadow- or what he didn’t want to see immediately in the first place.

Going out, he could…control what he saw. Could go where he demanded, probably.

After they did the first thing they probably needed to do out there.

And the first thing they needed to do on a trip out was get him a goddamned communicator.

* * *

It was hard, to talk to them. It was hard to hobble his way out and carefully avoid their searching eyes and ask, body creaking as it moved and answered his call, if it was possible that they go out within the next few days to get him a communicator.

…They relaxed. Just a bit. It was almost something he missed, but the objective-based nature of him at the moment appeared to be something they were more comfortable with rather than a shaky, unsure replica of who they were used to seeing stronger.

…Interesting.

Instead of continuing on to detail specifics, he watched them. He watched how Tommy looked to Wilbur. How Wilbur opened up his own commuinicator again, absentmindedly flicking through things Techno couldn’t make very good sense of until a more crisp image appeared, how Wilbur bit at his lip softly and frowned.

The image was backwards. Techno was pretty sure that was just because Wilbur was across from him from where they were all now sitting, but it could always just be that the image was backwards. He didn’t know. (Hah. Would he ever?)

“You had an… _odd_ style of communicator,” Wilbur finally said, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. “It was…something with admin magic, like, sent whatever the projections would give to your head. Translate it to, like, data or numbers or something.” He tapped his head. Techno wasn’t stupid. He snorted in response. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, it just…I’m not too sure, uh, how much it’s changed. Most people I know use this style.” He motioned to his device.

_ …So? _

“ _So,_ ” Wilbur said, and _ah, he had said that out loud,_ “we need to figure out where to get yours. It’s changed pretty recently, a bit before you went into that…into the fields. It used to be a little hub that interacted with world code to send stuff into your head that you could respond to with, like, finger movements. And saying stuff without actually saying stuff.”

“Fuck if I know that word,” Tommy huffed. Wilbur shot him a glare. “Hey- you don’t know it, either! That shit deals with, like, fancy things and that sucks. All the advertisements said that those were for people who were really smart ‘n shit. And I was _plenty_ smart.”

“Apparently not enough,” Techno deadpanned, and refused to smile when they looked at him with brighter eyes, smiles of their own. _Is this all it takes for you to think I’m back to normal?_ “…So it was made to be quiet.”

“Or, uh, unnoticeable,” Wilbur hummed. “Or quiet, yeah. But I think you liked it because you weren’t forced to speak slow, or whatever, and it took your voice and played it to the other person from what it has on your voice.”

Strange. Strange, strange, _strange_. It felt familiar. It felt like they were speaking the truth, speaking to something deep inside of him that resonated with what they were saying. It was novel. It was _interesting_. In some way, it really _did_ feel familiar.

_ Huh. _

In fact, it felt familiar enough that he blinked and drifted off, right back into a world of thread and amused laughter and academic enchantment discussions.

* * *

_ Make sure to study interactions between ‘thorn’ and ‘ash’ more before sleeping. Write it down in notebook, simple, contact Teacher if confused- _

“You go alternative with it, huh?”

Techno glanced to his side, where his teacher tilted their head at him, body posture just as relaxed as it often was when they weren’t in some kind of odd, intense teaching moment. It was impossible to tell what they were thinking, but it was clear that they were amused by…whatever he was doing.

 _Ah_. It was the finger twitching. The subvocalizations. When it was noticed, people always had something to say about it.

He turned to see where the little communicator that he always kept on him was put- it sat happily and silently on the countertop. No projections. No pinging. Instead, something hummed inside of his mind, and he let one of his pinkies twitch to clear the notes to himself he had been keeping away and set it to the side.

“So?” His voice was dry, rather more annoyed than his usual amused responses to the other person. “I get enough grief from my siblings about it. You, too?” With everything settled from the communicator’s end, the rest set to not disturb him while he was doing things, Techno leaned back in his seat and arched a critical eyebrow at them. “What do _you_ use, anyways?”

“Hey, hey, cool it,” they laughed, arms jokingly flying up in defense at his eyebrow raise, “I use one too!” A second later, a little hub was out and about, waved before they slipped it back into a large pocket. “It’s just funny to see someone else who uses them, you know? Maybe it’s just a thing for us, since my teacher and their other apprentice before me used them too- everyone _likes_ the concept of them but never uses them! Too complicated for anything but movies or big business people, or whatever.”

Techno thought about it. Mulled over the fact that, if he didn’t have such strict control over what it brought to his attention, he would have very well gone insane from the communicator’s functions months, years ago. “One of my siblings tried them once,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting up as he thought about Tommy clamoring to try one and instantly yelping when it finally pinged him. “Said something about it being _too weird_. But it’s a lot more…” He hummed. “Intuitive.”

“Tell me about it, yeah, and the visual media’s always crisper and you don’t even have to look away from what you’re doing, but gods, the hub’s so breakable, I wish they’d make implants instead of a big, bulky hub, I’ve broken about six so far…”

“… _Six?_ ”

“I- don’t look at me like that! If you want, I can stop teaching you this, you know! You won’t have a teacher, and I won’t help you find anyone else that knows it.” They sniffed.

“…I didn’t remember even _asking_ to be taught.”

“Doesn’t matter- _shush-_ and weren’t you supposed to be _working_ on something?”

“…I was making a note for later.”

Techno stared at them, dead-eyed as he tried to read their emotions behind their poker face. They seemed to still be pretty relaxed, if a bit indignant- but that was fine. It wasn’t as if it was a topic he was totally passionate about, even if it was a bit absurd that they’d managed to break the communicator… _multiple times._

“Then what _are_ you working on, huh?”

He turned back to his sketchbook and the embroidery hoop that sat next to it. “…You assigned me this,” he blandly reminded them. “Just a basic chain that could work on something like a belt. Thorn, aether, wynn…”

“For protection? Or just for energy? Anything special you’re adding to it?”

“…Well, I was going to. Research how some more complicated interactions of thorn and ash would work. And maybe use that book you brought me and see if I can figure out any other runes that would work well with wynn to begin with.”

“Just be careful,” they advised, and it was only when they moved again that Techno noticed the little embroidery hoop in their lap, attached to a skirt that looked far too thin for any sort of embroidery that wasn’t blatant. “Sometimes it can be a little picky, those interactions- and don’t actively practice even a small chain with a new rune, not just yet, unless you’re fine with it blowing up in your face. Just make a list and send it to me before you do anything with them.”

“…Fine, fine.”

They stared dubiously at each other. Reflexively, Techno’s fingers twitched- _test out new rune combinations when alone_ quickly got added to his communicator’s list. He ignored the feeling of their stare on his hands.

“ _Really,_ Techno- you have my contact information, send it. Certain combinations of runes, especially if you don’t know their ins and outs can go very wrong, very quick.” Their voice was grave. Techno sighed.

“…Fine. Really. I know what I’m doing.”

He absolutely didn’t. What bad was a bit of a backfire, anyways, with something so small?

“ _Excuse_ you, I’m your _teacher_ \- bet you didn’t even know what you could do if you chained without a loop, or, or if you subvocalize just as you end body movements for your communicator, you little-”

* * *

“And I’m _sure_ you knew that the whole not-speaking-but-still-speaking thing was trash, because I _never_ saw you do it-”

“ _Tommy,_ half of the _point_ is to not be noticed, and it’s not really trash, it’s just weird, just that _you_ couldn’t do it-”

“ _Hey!_ ”

Techno blinked and found himself sitting back where he was, staring at his two brothers- who seemed to be in the middle of a meaningless argument, bickering just to..well, just to bicker. A second later, they turned to him- and, again, they looked…relieved. An odd thing.

“Oh, you’re back-“

…They had noticed, then.

“I _am_ back,” Techno said, more than a hair dry as he lifted up a hand to rub at his eyes. He ignorined the regular complaints from his body at movement. “I…hm.”

“Memory?” Tommy leaned in. “Ooh, was it about how _our_ communicators are better-”

“Tommy.”

“I’m _right_ , aren’t I?”

“You’re _very_ wrong,” Techno informed his younger brother, and even cracked a bit of a smile when Tommy groaned and tossed his head back, clearly more than annoyed at his shenanigans. It was with a tilt of his head that he turned to more properly look at Wilbur. “…I think I know a bit more about what…having my communicator would imply,” he said, the memory still not crystal clear in his mind but still bringing a twitch of his fingers as if he were trying to say something, a tightness in his throat that spoke of wanting to do something but forgetting just exactly how.

The muscle memory, even though it existed, wasn’t completely back- but those fingers wouldn’t stop twitching and moving in deliberate patterns that he couldn’t identify. With a firm thought towards it, they stopped.

“But we need to go out to get one,” he murmured. “To get what I want.”

“…Well, _about_ that. While you were off in daydreaming land…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this wasn't as early as it usually is in the day. power's been off most of the day and i don't carry my work on google docs, and it's too risky to hook the generator up to my precious child of a computer. power came back on maybe forty minutes ago as i'm writing this, haha. fuck, man, i just wanted cool snow for the second time in my life, i didn't expect texas to get so fucked up by one inch of snow or whatever
> 
> hope everyone's having a nice day. i've been asleep for most of it to fight off the boredom.


	20. xx. blow out the fog and remove all the cobwebs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communicators in this day and age have upgraded a bit, especially in the kind that Techno had used. Wilbur takes charge of the necessities. Techno's not very fond of whitewashed walls and a sterile, impersonal environment.
> 
> (Or: at what point does the 'cosplayer' become the 'cosplayed'?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from 'celeste' by erza vine]

As it turned out, the ability to get those communicators was less tied to some sort of retail store and more tied to a…medical procedure?

No, not quite. Not _really_ a medical procedure, even though that would have been interesting- or, rather simultaneously very _not_ and instead very uncomfortable and intrusive. When Wilbur had briefed him on it, it had sounded very much like an in and out thing- because, apparently, instead of a little hub to carry…there really were little implants now.

Implants. For the body.

That brought to mind something that he didn’t quite have the vocabulary for, something he couldn’t exactly name that reminded him of a wordless dark storm in the pit of his stomach, but- it felt wrong, didn’t it, in some way? Was the word ‘chipping’? Were these little things able to tell exactly where he was and tell it to people?

…Then, come again, he had a hunch that regular communicators could do the same thing. It wasn’t as if he ever saw Wilbur or Tommy leave theirs anywhere unless it was letting him borrow it, after all- but…it felt strange.

 _Intrusive,_ no matter which way you put it.

But that was the normal, it seemed to him, a thought that stayed in his brain as they walked through crowded streets, the commotion of the city almost enough to make him want to yelp and break away from his brothers, almost enough to get him to try and run back to the waypoint that would get him closer to his apartment.

It seemed _normal_ \- because _everyone_ seemed to have a device out. Perhaps it was paranoid of him to think of the implications, especially in a world he only barely remembered- and something whispered on his tongue there, something about _deals_ and _promises_ and being _monitored,_ but when he tried to chase the thoughts, they left as if they had never been there in the first place.

Everyone had _some_ kind of a device. He could see random people barely watching where they were going. Some twitched their fingers mid-air, a far-off look in their eyes.

Tommy was fiddling with his. Wilbur’s was out and helping them navigate to the little place they wanted to go, an appointment having been made for the day after he had brought it up. They were all…reasonably well rested, for whatever measure that was worth, and Techno kept a little hoodie up, one of the ones with the _hide-safe-secret_ feelings stitched in, kept his hair tucked in, and tried not to act too suspicious- although, curiously enough, other people they passed had hair a similar shade of pink as his.

…Huh.

But the world was foreign. It was _scary_ \- and memories flew by, a bubble shooting past him without stopping before it faded back into where it came from, a glimpse at something he knew without unlocking anything more. Once, a flick of the fingers brought to mind a list of people. Now- there was nothing for that movement. When he had to push past someone a little, still holding onto a part of Wilbur’s shirt, a jolt passed through him, a mirage layered over top of reality with people with hair all pink, plastic crowns on heads, hands reaching at him-

And then Techno blinked, and they were still moving in the direction dictated by Wilbur.

They escaped the thick of the moving mass after a few more minutes, and it was a shorter amount of time than he expected before they were walking into a building and through a quiet hallway, passing a few offices before they got to the end of the hall, a nondescript sign on a door detailing that it was a place to install some of the latest ‘innovations in communication’- and nothing else to be seen but a sleek logo with wings.

Seemed a bit- _sketchy_ , to say the least- but they made their way in.

His eyes were instantly caught by the clean tiles, by the light-washed atmosphere, bringing to Techno thoughts of stumbling through too-bright rooms, forced in front of people that he couldn’t recognize but who recognized him, given enough time, of Phil’s firm hand on his wist and of panic fluttering in his chest and of stone-solid gazes and crisp suits and-

This was uncomfortable. This was _bad._

But this was a place where he could gain the tools to explore more of himself, so he let himself sit silent and still, peering over Tommy’s shoulder at whatever he was doing on his communicator.

“Hey, eyes _off,_ I’m speaking with Tubbo, here!”

…Who cared? That was the person with the bees, right? Tommy’s friend?

Tommy huffed when he didn’t look away, but continued typing. To Techno’s eyes, too lazy to look over every single thing that was being said and parse through it beyond the vaguest level, there was something about siblings and communicators and shock going on- talking about him throughout, and more at the end. Maybe Tommy was annoyed that he was looking.

…Eh, that was fine, even if it was awkward. Techno watched for another minute or two before turning to Wilbur, who glanced at his own screen before shrugging at him.

“A few more minutes,” Wil hummed, smiling. “And you’ll be able to call Phil, finally, without having to come to us, you know! It’s great like that, having a device of your own.”

That was…a nobrainer. What did Wilbur think he was…well, thinking?

Rather than comment on _that,_ though, Techno just grunted and leaned back, watching the counter nearby without a person, cast a gaze around to observe the fact that they weren’t the only ones in this waiting room- a few more people were scattered about, immersed in their own little worlds.

Neither Tommy or Wilbur said his name out loud, just as they hadn’t when they had arrived on the server, just as they hadn’t when they had left the house.

(Famous. What a joke.

Or was it a joke?)

Minutes _tick-tick-tick_ ed on by. Techno kept looking around, kept idly rubbing at the backs of his clasped hands with his thumbs, a tried and true technique to just chill out and relax. It wasn’t as if anyone could take _that_ ability from him, or anything- he just stared and waited and let the time pass, floating on a lake of memories that wouldn’t entirely come to the surface.

 _Messages_ came to mind before drifting right past him. _Inboxes_. Lists on lists on _lists_ , _quotas_ to meet…

A past life, an unremembered life sat on his tongue, the flavors mingling until all he could do was just sit there, heavy-eyed and almost ready to doze off from the fact that nothing would come.

How often, how long had he been in a waiting room like this? Always? Never?

Would he ever know?

At _that_ thought, the door behind the empty counter opened to reveal someone who stood at something almost like attention, someone who smiled with crisp, shining teeth, whose eyes crinkled very cleanly at the edges. He eyed them dubiously, but stood when his brothers rose up at their call of _‘Wilbur’_. He’d follow them, at least, but not come to the call of someone he knew absolutely nothing about.

…It didn’t matter that he had followed Phil that day. Even though he had known nothing about the man then.

Another sterile hallway. Another sterile room.

“Where,” he said blandly as they all awkwardly stood there, nobody making the first move (although the employee had been opening their mouth), “does it go in me?”

For the first time since arriving, he met someone else’s eyes here. The employee stared back at him- and then paused, as if trying to figure out a puzzle that they weren’t quite sure the purpose of. He gave them a second, another, a third- and then raised his eyebrow a bit.

“Back of the neck, near your shoulderblades,” they managed to get out, looking rather like a deer in the headlights for no reason that Techno could fathom. It was a moment before they looked at him…and back down to a little tray they were holding in their hands. “I mean, I can deal with having to move a shirt a bit, but a hoodie…”

_ Ah. _

He pulled it off without hassle, mindful of the fact that, apparently, people could know him on sight, and turned his back to them.

The _hiding_ function of the hoodie was gone.

His shoulders were set, tension high-strung. There _was_ some reasonable anonymity with this, right? It wasn’t as if they’d figure it out and he’d have to deal with things he knew nothing about. Right? Did the employee seem nervous because of how he acted or because he looked suspiciously like someone who used to be server-renowned?

( _World_ -renowned? Techno had no clue, really. Whatever fame entailed, he still didn’t entirely get it. He wondered if he ever would.)

A half-beat later and they were poking around at the base of his neck and around his back, pulling at the stretching shirt so they could examine him more. He knew there were scars back there, but. He refused to comment on them. Refused to rise up and turn around and snap at how they just wouldn’t fucking _stop_ with their _hands_ -

“Cool cosplay, dude,” they said, giving one final poke before humming again to themselves. He was ready to scream. “So, before I have to put this in- do you have your former communicator to sync it up with for credentials, or do I need to input it so you can hook it up with your data before we do this?”

“We’ll do a manual input,” Wilbur said, all smooth and capable and thank the _gods,_ because Techno didn’t understand the bulk of what they had said. He was still hung up on them saying he was dressing up as _himself-_ now _that_ was a concept.

“Well, can I get a registered name on this server, and universal ID? Or, well.” He heard a slight rustle of fabric. Probably a shrug. “Hypixel ID works, too. It’ll connect it up eventually if you want to go outside any of the servers from this hub’s sphere of, uh, influence or whatever.”

Nonsense. Utter _nonsense_. He understood none of it.

Really, he just wanted a healthy mug of lavender tea. Or honeyed milk. Or anything. All this waiting and not actually being able to see Wilbur or Tommy or the strange employee was…very annoying.

And nervewracking.

Not like he was going to _say_ anything about it, though.

It seemed, though, that Wilbur had him covered- a short hum or two, a tap of the foot, and he heard the employee gasp like a celebrity had just walked into the room. Almost as if on instinct, he fully looked up to blink at the door from where he had sat down a half minute ago, arms up on the back of the chair- but nobody had come in.

He looked at them. Wilbur was tapping at something the employee had in both hands- and he watched as they stared, wide-eyed at it, before turning to him.

Wait.

Hold up.

The celebrity was _him._

“You’re- um- actually- oh _gods_ , I called you a _cosplayer_ , I’m so sorry, uh, you’re really-”

“I’m really Techno,” he said in his common flat tone, extremely grateful that his usual poker face didn’t fail him right then and there. He could hear them trying not to freak out behind him, which almost made _him_ freak out, and he’d rather not have that happen for the benefit of everyone involved. It would be a terrible thing for him to freak out here, especially when their attitude was actually threatening to have memories swallow him up.

Faintly, he could almost hear a voice- could hear someone exclaiming _Techno! It’s Techno!_ before applause trickled up from the deep. Could hear cheers of both general joy and screams for _blood, blood for the Blood God, get him good-_

And what could he do to that? In what way could he separate reality from that past when he was so close to zoning out? Was it just an overlay of a crowd before him or was he really there, living something that he couldn’t get his bearings in?

Touch brought him back to earth, though. It wasn’t the employee, but he could feel Tommy grip his wrist tightly. He looked up to see bright, worried eyes.

He gave Tommy a thin smile. Ignored the chanting of an audience as he heard music, as he felt strangely like he was walking onto a stage even as he sat down.

Reality was an odd thing, but that touch grounded him. Let him focus even as the employee’s momentary fan reaction started to fade.

“I…oh, gosh, I’m so sorry for telling you-“

“It’s fine.” He breathed in. Out. Tried to not fall into speech patterns that would fit so easily here but would feel foreign, stolen from the person that he didn’t want to be, not right now. “It’s fine, alright? I’d…I’d just…like the communicator, now. Please.”

He hated this.

_ He hated this. _

He stayed silent for the rest of the- thankfully quick- experience. The only hiccup, bar the slight delay caused by the employee’s response and his strange experience was the full-body flinch he gave when the implant was plunged in. There had been apologies before it, even a bit of something put over the skin so it was numbed, but the foreignness of the sensation almost made him snarl and lash out.

As it turned out, the implant was tiny.

Tiny, but caused enough of a jolt that he almost hurt someone- possibly hurt them, and _seriously,_ at that. _Hah._

It was a small thing, something that he had thought looked delicate in the tray before but apparently had multiple layers of a very strong…shell. It was fascinating, if he really thought about it past that spike of panic- crafted from admin magic given form and mass-manufactured to be soaked in a combination of potions and injected with code, if the mess of memories floating on by was any indication- and it was only a few seconds after he calmed that the world just… _opened up._

What struck him first was- the _layers_ to reality that he seemed to be operating on, now. The physical, the _tangible,_ was only one layer, and the memories another- but his mind encountered something strange, something half-tangible that spoke directly to his brain and other muscles. It felt almost like the strange sci-fi films that Phil had shown him once or twice, but… _different._

It was a communication device wired to work in sync with the person, it seemed, rather than an external output like swiping fingers on a screen or speaking directly with voice controls. If he thought about it- really, _really_ thought about it- there was something in him that spoke of movement. That spoke of opening something up with a thought and a twitch.

Techno’s own little universe unfolded.

It was instinct, the movements he made, completely ignoring everything but the hand wrapped around one of his. He breathed in and out and shut out the world, shut out the memories, closed his eyes.

Techno _focused._

It was all muscle memory that wasn’t quite up to snuff. It was something he knew, an interface hellishly familiar but alien all the same, all these little sections that chimed to let him know of their properties. There were folders, bits of info, a hub to bind them all together- and it was all inside of him, admin skills and careful potioncrafting and the work of hundreds of scientists given form.

 _This is who you are,_ this new part of him seemed to say. _You are Techno, [PIG+++] Hypixel resident, and you have all of these notifications clamoring at the back of your head that you should probably catch up on. You have over twenty thousand messages to catch up on. Yesterday, these people won the Sky Battles tournament. For news: Techno Spotted at Hub, or Just Another Brilliant Cosplayer? You have X amount of credits left on your main bank account. Welcome back!_

There was more.

There was so much _more_ , and if he focused on even one bit of it, the rest threatened to collapse in on him with notifications and chimes and yelling, _screaming_ for his attention. If he focused on it all, everything hit him at once like a truck. It almost made him gasp, trying to figure out how to silence it all-

“Techno?” Ah. If he thought long and hard on it, that was Tommy’s voice, wasn’t it? “Everything alright?”

No, everything was not alright. He was overwhelmed and ready to scream and nothing else was really filtering in before he twisted his hand and wrist just so-

And it all quieted.

Okay.

_ Okay. _

Everything was great. He had a communicator now, and all it wanted to do was rip him apart with notifications. Now, he could only sense the basics- the fact that he could do this little action to access part of what the communicator was able to give. He knew what he could do. Nothing was screaming at Techno to be heard because he had muted them all.

He could actually hear Wilbur’s worried muttering now. Could hear the nervous shuffling and fretting of the employee as they debated on getting someone higher up than them, someone who knew how to fully help someone like- someone like him.

“I’m fine,” he said, and they all quieted. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes and leaned back, feeling at the back of his neck and coming back with a thin layer of a potion on his fingers. And now he couldn’t exactly feel whatever he touched with them. _Great._

Techno stood up and awkwardly shouldered the hoodie back on, feeling the weight of all of their now-silent stares as he figured out what to do: the hoodie was fine. The shirt had shifted, a little, to cover where it had gone back up again. There was something he was missing, he was sure, but he breathed in, squared his shoulders, and turned around to face the employee, who didn’t seem any different now for all that he was wearing the rune-stitched hoodie.

He was running on autopilot. Instead of the full crippling awkwardness he was so keen to put off, he instead gave a solemn nod, poker face working overtime. He clasped his hands together to stop their shaking.

“Thank you,” he said simply, neither his voice or his own body shaking with the force of his panicked will. There was something he was missing, here. Something that made him act like this, almost a prisoner in his own body and letting everything float by. He saw one of his hands unclasp so he could make a flick of the wrist and a short sequence of movements on autopilot.

Something pinged him in his mind.

_ Payment confirmed. _

He nodded to himself, to them. Turned back. Drug Tommy along and Wilbur with him as the employee yelped and- and stared.

After all, he had paid whatever was the price they had been wanting for these things- along with an extra thousand credits or two as a tip, he was pretty sure, although…it wasn’t as if that would make a dip in whatever he had.

What were credits even really for? Why use them when you could just give someone something and have them return another item to you for whatever reason?

People were weird. He was pretty sure he’d never understand them- he didn’t understand himself, either, and people acted plenty odd about that. Take his brothers for an example. Take Tommy, Wilbur, Phil, anyone.

The intricate movements his hand had made felt like something he had done many, many times before. They held the importance of years of having done so already, and wasn’t that odd? How many tips had he given? How many things had he paid for?

Why was there a strange, unwelcome feeling in his chest as he walked away to the sound of the employee’s yelp- and their subsequent amazement and shock?

_ This is not who I am. This is not me. This cannot be me. _

The Techno he understood was simple. He farmed. He tried to figure out things. He navigated a relationship that had pitfalls on either side with his family because they knew things he didn’t. He fumbled and he tripped and he second-guessed himself and all he wanted to do was chill out.

The Techno that was coming out was measured. No fumbling, no complete second-guessing, only a simple surety in their actions. He sent money without thought at someone. He took charge, a bit, the same flat dryness in his voice sent out in a different direction. He acted, even with a hood up, like there was still a cape trailing behind him.

He acted like a stranger even on those smaller things and Techno was trapped within that horrible shell.

It was only when they were out of the place altogether and in an empty hallway that he broke free and gasped, grasping at Tommy’s hand with a trembling strength, staring forwards and into the abyss with a gaping mouth. He gasped and trembled and tried not to fucking panic at what the hell had just happened.

Techno needed to go home. _He needed to go home._

The communicator was too much to begin with, and now- and now muscle memory had taken hold of him for almost half a minute. He had been silent. Moved like a predator instead of the way he had gone before. He didn’t know the person in his own shoes and he was _terrified-_ and the memories were back, trying to push on in and take advantage of that person he had momentarily become.

“I want to go back home,” he said. There was no weakness in his voice but it was clipped, it was short, it was matter-of-fact. “We are going back home.” The overload of information was gone, but those memories would sweep him up again. He refused to let go of Tommy’s hand, and instead grasped it better, weaved their fingers, took a hold and didn’t release it even when Tommy tugged.

It would probably be a good idea to-

“I am about to maybe start remembering things,” he said, “so please drag me along. I do not know what is going on.” Ah, how this hurt to admit to anyone but Phil. How he tried to ignore their panicked looks, their shared glances. “I did not expect what the communicator would tell me,” he said faintly, “and this is the first real time I have been out on the city,” and his words had been slurring the whole time and he hated it and he wanted to _scream._

It wasn’t as if he could, though, because the instant he tried, he was sucked right back into whatever river was trying to push him along the course of remembrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been cold for the past few days and i went outside today and it was only very very slightly cool and now i feel offended. i wanted to have the cold. fuck you, texas. fuck you
> 
> hope everyone's doing well! snapshots is still going strong. a HUGE amount of content has been written and some has been edited and waiting. i still need to write the finishing bits but i figured i'd tell yall as much! i hope everyone's doing well! have a great day! night! evening! whatever! <333
> 
> (bro what the FUCK was up with that latest tommy stream im so-)


	21. xxi. the same songs with the same old rhymes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, Techno could multitask as he trained. Once upon a time, Techno couldn't comprehend what a communicator was. Once upon a time, Tommy and Techno stood on two different sides of misunderstanding.
> 
> (Or: Could a guy at least spend _one_ training session without being called and offered another sponsorship deal he'd have to reject in the end?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "drive" by oh wonder.]

“You would be very lucky, partnering with us, you know.”

Techno paused from where he sat on the floor, wrapping his hands up in white bandages. He made sure to take care with how he did it, looping it around and around as he kept track of the call his communicator was keeping open at the back of his mind. He stretched lightly from his sitting position, stared down at his half-wrapped hands, and listened to the honey-sweet, whiskey-smooth voice that filtered into his hearing.

“Honestly, you’d go well with the brand- Hypixel’s own Blood God partnering with the finest armoring company this side of the universe? Really, it’s just good things waiting to happen, Techno- Can I call you Techno?- Techno. So, here’s the deal…”

Techno sighed- although the person on the other end couldn’t hear that- and finished wrapping up his hands, stretching more afterwards before he climbed to his feet. The room he was in, at the end of his apartment’s hallway and facing a different part of the city than the living room, was bathed in a strictly lavender and cyan wash compared to the terrible yellow shades of his living room at the moment. It played over him like a work of art, almost, one that he had been interested in when buying the property- and now thoroughly was disenchanted with. Sure, he could have worked on the glass panels with some group to neutralize it as best as he could or put up curtains to block out the light- but this was his, dammit.

What _wasn’t_ his was the voice in his ear trying to get him to join up with some second-rate company to form yet another partnership.

 _Hah._ What a _joke._

Or, well.

It was _far_ from a joke. But the companies kept reaching out, kept promising things, kept trying to rope him into deals that he was only marginally interested in. This company was the second that night to finally get around his spam filters and contact him, and it was only because they had paired their call with a tag that it was related to his contract holder, had somehow gotten their authorization key.

This shit was tiring. He didn’t even _care_ about it- this armor, that armor, whatever armor. If he _really_ cared, he’d ask Phil his opinion…but Phil made his own armor. Which was better than theirs in that it didn’t shield far too much and was made for flexibility and movement and comfort and-

Techno threw a lazy punch to the air as he lurched to his feet. Circled around to the punching bag hanging from the wall at the side, let the guy keep speaking.

“And you see, with companies like ours, a contract- hah, you wouldn’t even really _need_ a contract! Just call it a conversation between buddies and move on, you know what I mean?”

They were hitting all the red flags from the instant they opened the stupid call to the instant Techno threw a punch, a second, a third. It was like they weren’t even anticipating him speaking…which, given his reputation, was almost fair. He was by far the least talkative of all the names on the server, really, even if he didn’t think he gave off the air of a pushover.

“Just a little bit of money, maybe a favor or two, and you’d be repping the newest line of the Empire Dynamics Armory during your next King’s Challenge, eh?”

A hit on the punching bag. Another. Another. The bandages around his hands made him thankful that he had even put them there- there was a lot of frustration to push out from the competitions he had been in earlier in the day, and this person wasn’t helping.

“I know you’re currently partnered with a few of the other big names ‘round the block, through an agent or two and all, it’s no big deal- but I _really_ hope you’d consider this, Techno. It’s definitely no big deal to break it up, I’m sure-”

“I’m contracted with Quartz Entertainment.”

He didn’t speak out loud. The subvocalizations transmitted just fine and allowed him to keep fighting, upping his moves with a few jabs, a few ducks, a few kicks, one movement flowing into another. Hand-to-hand wasn’t his finest skill, but he had to keep it in top shape, especially since one of the news outlets had recently commented on the fact that it wasn’t a style he preferred to fight up against. Gods, _nothing_ was private, was it?

 _Hah._ What a thought when he was currently talking to someone who had found all the right hoops to jump through regarding his block on many companies. They knew he had an agent at Quartz that they should be going through, right? Or…well. Considering they hadn’t mentioned Quartz or even their parent company, Sinea- maybe they hadn’t known. Somehow. Even with the ability to bypass his spam filter.

…Although it wasn’t like Sinea would let Quartz to allow most things through that weren’t their subsidiary companies. They knew what kind of a hold they liked on him.

“Ah… _excuse_ me, Techno, what do you, uh, mean by that? Just a temporary one, right?”

Clearly, they hadn’t done their research.

“I _mean,_ ” he told them, throwing a particularly hard punch and shaking out his hand afterwards, slowing down to focus on what he was telling them, “that they're the majority stakeholder of my contract. Quartz, through its parent company, Sinea.”

“…Quartz.”

“Yes.” How had they not _known_ that?

How had he not known the company that wormed its way into Techno’s life and choked him out with their demands as he tried fruitlessly to leave their grasp? How did he not know one of the companies on Hypixel with their grubby hands in everything- every industry, almost every person, even a good portion of the admins, the company that only grew bigger and bigger in society in and out of Hypixel?

The company that hunted down every remotely good portion of the up and coming stars of the entertainment sphere in the server until they said _yes?_

_ Ugh. _

“ _Surely_ you can-“

“No can do,” he told them, so glad for the fact that the communicator wouldn’t catch his annoyed growls, his slightly strained breathing as he left the punching bag to instead throw the blows to thin air, practicing a few lines of movement over and over so he could stop fucking _thinking_ about his main partnerships that much. “As much as I’m…sure I would _love_ Empire Dynamics Armory, I’m…already spoken for.”

Far from it. There was so much left to take from him. So much still left to pick out and devour and demand a pittance for. But why the fuck would he say so, when the parts Quartz had were the very core of who he was? Why would he do so just to be dragged out of this lavender and cyan purgatory any longer than he had to be?

“I’m…I…”

“I’m _terribly_ sorry,” he said, knowing full well that he didn’t come across as such as he ducked and lunged and spun around with a heavy half-kick, examined his own form in the way that one of the walls acted as a mirror. “If you would like to…pursue a better route to a possible partnership, you would have to go through my agent, Errol. I’m sure you can find them, somewhere down the line, especially since you found the authorization key to call. Now that you’ve said your piece-“

“Hey- wait, I can make it even sweeter for you, really, even just a mention in an interview or something, not a long-term partnership like we were all really hoping for-“

“Hope you have a lovely day.” A pause. “Not. Bye.”

And another potential partnership went down the drain. Another rich person scorned, another evening to pass. Calls were fine. Calls were _always_ fine, especially from these companies he could ignore and blow off and have some fun with.

He kept going.

It was only every single important person of every single one of Sinea’s subsidiaries as well as their shareholders and Quartz’s own network of partners that he couldn’t ignore.

Speaking of which, a ping-

-and that was now a banquet he had to go and give a speech to in…a week and a half.

What a present. He really appreciated it.

He drowned himself in practice until he was absolutely _drowning_ in sweat, letting himself be lost to the rhythm of his own body’s movements.

Everything was fine.

He was _fine._

It wasn’t like Teach had been going to visit, then, during that banquet time. Not like it was their schedule. Not like, even though they already planned to meet in two days and then again in four, he was _hurt_ by it or anything.

What a sad attempt at trying to make himself think that, really.

It was just another regular, no good, terrible, horrible day on Hypixel.

Just the usual.

* * *

“Here, here, Techno.” Phil’s smile was soft and warm as they sat together on the floor, backs against the little couch they had at home. Techno, small as he was- and pretty freshly out of what the man called the ‘Nether’ to boot- peered curiously over what Phil had in his hands.

The adult- _I’m not an adult, not really, not quite,_ Phil had said a few weeks after they met, even though Techno promptly ignored him at that- chuckled quietly.

“This is a communicator, okay? Can you say that for me?”

Techno clucked his tongue lightly before sounding it out. “Cuh- cuh- commune, icate, communicator.” Slurred slightly, but leagues better than his first attempts at regular words, at bridging a gap that he had been given the first hints of earlier in life and was only connecting now. “Communicator. What is it do?”

“It lets you look at information- at, uh, not information…at things. And it lets you talk to people! Like me!”

“…Already talking to you?”

A snort. “No, no- like, if I’m out fishing and you’re in here, how would you talk to me right now?”

“…Go out.”

“Right. But with this you can say hello to me from all the way in here!”

Techno stared at him dubiously. For all the odd things Phil had done since taking him in, for all the odd things living in a place of green and blue and day and night was, this was probably…the oddest. It ranked above nobody being able to say his name quite right, their mouths not able to make the syllables as rough as they needed to be, and…just barely above the fact that there were animals here that were like de-tusked boars.

Or hoglins, as the man- the boy- the teenager?- called them.

“Easier to go out,” he mumbled, his curious look turning to something wary. Why did you need to speak to someone from far away? Couldn’t you yell and wave them over, or do a sounding cry, or something? What was up with needing a… _shape_ to talk to people?

“No, no…just. Okay, so this is the button to turn it on, right here, on the side. This one was Wil’s old model, so it’s a bit fucked, but that’s fine, you know? It may take a few seconds, and, and…there!”

Techno jolted as a little screen popped up above the device, a slice of light and lines and images floating into being in front of his eyes, right in the air. The lines formed symbols that he wasn’t entirely able to parse, much like the things bound in hard material with thin wood-sheets between them (“paper”, which was an odd word to begin with)- and he grimaced at them.

Apparently they meant _language,_ which was silly, because you needed multiple symbols to make a word and it was so much simpler in the nether, where things could mean different words depending on the shapes of the symbols, of where they were located in the environment, gashes in trees and carefully hammered gold and-

“Words,” he said flatly. Phil snorted softly.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled. “You gotta know the language and the writing to properly use it, sure, but I figured it’d be good to tell you about it now, okay? It’s useful to know. This is the regular kind, and there’s another that sort of speaks to your head…”

Techno blinked slowly. How he was meant to take all of those words together- so fast, so loose- he just gave a soft sigh through his nose and let himself take it all in.

It was fine. Phil was good.

Even if it took him a long time to realize that Techno was dozing off in the middle of his explanations and demonstrations.

* * *

“Hey, Tech?”

He hummed from where he sat on the docks, feet grazing the water while he stared off into the distance. The voice was unmistakable- he didn’t so much as glance over when Tommy sat down next to him, the annoying smaller kid that he was.

“…Tech? Big T?”

Techno hummed again. It took a bit for Tommy to realize that the hum was permission for him to speak, but, well, kids. They’d barely talked so far, anyways, with his schedule so tightly packed at Hypixel.

“…Why’re you gone so much?” His voice was quiet, this time. Wondering.

He sighed.

“…Kid.”

“What? Don’t fuckin’ call me _kid,_ I swear-“

He raised a hand. Tommy shut his mouth with a soft _click_.

“I’m gone a lot,” Techno said slowly, taking his time with every soft syllable, natural harshness phased out in order to try mimicking the softer tones better and not give as much of an accent so late at night, “because I have…work. I’m…at Hypixel a lot.”

“Why? You said something about a fuckin’, fuckin’ tournament or some shit, but that’s not…”

“It’s. A lot of it.” A pause. “Only a bit. The rest is…training. Appointments.” He snorted. “Boring things that I have to do.”

They sat there, staring out at the nothingness. After a few seconds, Tommy started to kick his feet, not quite reaching the water except for when he was at the bottom of his arc.

“Bit shit, innit?”

That got a harsher snort out of him. They both fell into laughter- Techno’s quiet, Tommy’s loud, and he thanked his lucky stars that it had been Phil who had gone out to clear the mobs of the night earlier. This wouldn’t’ve happened without Techno looking…vulnerable, almost, where he was.

_ Bit shit, innit. _

“Why do you even, like, do it, then? Techno?”

The hybrid sat there rather listlessly, worrying at his lip. He reeled an empty line in and cast it out again.

Minutes passed. Tommy had been lulled into quiet and then into sleep, his weight resting lightly on Techno’s side. He glanced down at him- and then back out at the water, back out at what he was doing, back out at the rest of the world where there weren’t colored lights glaring down at him when he was outside.

“I don’t know, Tommy,” he eventually whispered, harsh even in its softness.

Even he felt adrift, right then. Unmoored. Thoughts unfocused because of one, of two questions.

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

The rest of the night was spent in quiet, haunting contemplation until he stopped fishing and picked Tommy up, carrying him right along with a little bucket of fish until he could drop the bucket on the kitchen counter and dump Tommy right on his bed, right in the room they had built upon his arrival.

_ Why do you even do it, then? _

He didn’t get much sleep that night.

Or for the next few days, a rare stretch of time off (besides training), for that matter.

* * *

He hated this.

Things were _not fine_.

Things would _never_ be fine, not really, holy fucking _shit-_

There had been hints that he had ignored. That Techno had ignored and let flow past even though they made the hair on his skin raise, even though they made his ears lower a bit in fear and aggression and confusion. There had been hints that made him bare his teeth and fucking ignore it all further.

But he couldn’t ignore _that._

At least it hadn’t seemed to be too long in reality. He could ignore his panicked breathing among a crowd that his brothers were both gently but firmly dragging him through, could shudder and breathe through it all and slowly calm down even though the masses of people were unnerving him, skin prickling as they all moved through. Focusing on it, though, was better than focusing on- whatever the fuck _that_ had been.

There had been a conversation or two about sponsors, right? About _ties_ to Hypixel and what made him go to whatever the island had been for and about the reason he stuck around so long, right?

Why did the thought of some company called Quartz or even ‘Sinea’ give him so much dread? Enough of it to drown out even his own constant murmur of disgust at blood, of his own panic at being seen and _known_ by someone?

…What were companies even dealing with competitors in battles for, anyways, beyond a few brand sponsorships?

…Better yet, what had his younger self, fresh to Hypixel but probably just as clueless of the ways of the world as current Techno was, gotten the hell _into_ in here?

How deep did the rabbit hole _go?_

How deep did the rabbit hole go, how deep did the chain of consequences appear that even the mention of a company had shaken him so? The memory wasn’t ironclad in his head. He couldn’t recall every single detail, even though he had been thinking about it and still _was,_ but there was such a dread that welled up inside of him that he clutched at Tommy and Wil tighter, almost thought about calling Phil, about figuring out the subvocalizing he had done in the memory just so he could spill it all out to the one person who probably wouldn’t repeat it if he didn’t want them to- but he couldn’t.

He _wouldn’t._

Phil hadn’t even known much about companies and shit, right? Wouldn’t he have told Techno about it if he knew before he went off to Hypixel to thoroughly fuck himself up? Wasn’t there some line to be crossed that he didn’t entirely know the implications of, something that he could sense but couldn’t entirely parse in the context of it all?

What was going _on?_

…It was impossible to tell. But he followed Wilbur and Tommy in the present like a perfect little duckling, waypoint to waypoint that finally let them chain a few minutes of walking, a jump, a few minutes of walking and more until they finally got to the apartment building’s own personal waypoint system, until they could finally warp into the foyer of Techno’s apartment and he could breathe without fear of someone else… _discovering_ who he was. Because _that_ was a damned genuine concern.

“Techno- I’ll make you some tea, okay?” Wilbur’s voice was soothing as he slowly pried Techno’s hand off of his sleeve, as he slowly brought him in for a hug, as Techno could only shake and clutch tightly at him before he drew away again. “Some lavender tea. Just- just how you like it. And Tommy’ll be here for you to chill with while I make it. Do you want to-“ His voice broke, just a little, from its soothing line back into concern before it switched back again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m- I’m _fine_ ,” he got out, letting Wil go and making a few aborted movements towards him until he stilled, until he stared at Wilbur and let him move away and turned to gaze at Tommy with dark, haunted eyes.

What was he so _scared_ by?

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Techno warbled, all creaky and breaking apart as he moved to the sofa, as he flicked the television on by instinct and a swipe of his fingers that threatened to crack him open further with the way that his mind was in a disconnect with what the communicator allowed him to do. Tommy was there, a shadow that was far quieter than usual, not at all prone to jokes and cracking bits at terrible times like Techno fucking wanted him to do.

He just wanted everything to be _normal._

“I don’t- don’t _know_ what I want to do,” he repeated. “Maybe- maybe- a show. A regular one. Not- tournaments. Not fighting. A regular show.”

They had learned their lesson the other day, after all.

Tommy, an arm wrapped around Techno a bit awkwardly even though he was still growing like a beanstalk, opened up the television’s options with the manual controls before picking something about building, about making a home or renovating it or something, some white noise in the background that was just alien enough to make him calm and relax.

In the quiet, Techno thought of words that never even bubbled a quarter of the way out of his throat.

_ Tommy, what do you know about Quartz Entertainment? _

_ Tommy, what do you know about Hypixel in general that you think I know but I probably don’t? _

_Tommy, Tommy, Tommy-_ Help?

There was nothing to be done, not that night. He shoved the bit of him that was taken by the communicator into a corner, made sure it fucking _shut up_ , and let himself breathe. Tried to shove his storm of thoughts into a corner where they wouldn’t rise up on him and create an outbreak of emotions. Maybe failed a little at that, but it was at that point where his lack of a sense of time worked in his favor and a mug of hot lavender tea was pressed into his hands.

He breathed it in. Let that calm him, let it actually _soothe_ the raw and angry bits of him that wouldn’t shut it. It was a little something for the him of the past and the him of the present, two people intertwined but still impossible to fully combine for how separate they were, and he drank it with the fervor of someone who had found utter salvation in a drink.

It would probably hurt to eat much for the next day or two, given the way that the liquid shocked his mouth with its heat, the way his tongue howled and his throat flinched back in dismay. He ignored it- and the alarmed looks of his brothers- even thought he was starting to get an inkling that ingesting very hot drinks was…probably _bad_ for people.

It was fine for him, though, right? It was perfectly okay. It still tasted good, anyways.

The show was about some couple or some family renovating a house. That was fine. He could sip at the refill of his drink that Wil gave him and watch it with lidded eyes and actually recall a more comforting memory, the collection of what he half-remembered about building the bulk of Phil’s current house with Wil, a time before Tommy had been in the picture.

No matter the mobs that came, no matter the challenges they had faced- that house had been made. And it had been made _sturdy_ , it had been _good,_ and it had been made with their hard work and not with…not with these specialty tools, not with a crew of contractors to help, all in a well-lit space and no chance for mobs because of _course_ the show was set in another server, something big and public where mobs only ever truly threatened rural areas or the very outskirts of ‘suburbs’, which he didn’t entirely understand but which he had heard Phil mutter about before.

The house had been _theirs_. And even though these people looked like they hadn’t ever tried anything that hard, even though it seemed as if they were having a good time and their house was big, grand, wood all cut by machine and the projects more aesthetically pleasing than anything completely useful- it soothed something inside of him just like the tea did.

Even if Tommy caught him muttering about _a bit of shoddy work_ , that was fine. Even if Wilbur had slid in beside him and offered a few comments of his own- he could just retort on autopilot, only a fraction of his mind able to be spent on his brothers, and that relaxed him even more in some kind of damned, strange way.

He could think about companies later. About Quartz later. He could sit down and ask Phil questions that he wouldn’t entirely understand- just like the person asking them- and he could slowly go through whatever the communicator had for him, excavating something like a treasure hunter or an investigator searching for clues.

Twenty thousand and more messages murmuring at the back of his mind was a lot to go to. The numbers themselves, even thinking about them made his fingers twitch in sheer nerves- so he sipped at the second slowly cooling drink and contented himself with letting go of his mind for a while, with letting go of it all and breathing and just plainly existing.

His brothers were there to help, after all, even if they’d never completely get it.

He fell asleep with an empty mug in his hands to the sound of three different people arguing about tiling choices.

It was the best bit of sleep Techno had gotten since arriving at Hypixel.

(That was a lie, but at least he was nice and warm.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one day you have below freezing temperatures and that time a week later sucks absolute shit with the heat, man. fuck texas. it's hot here and i hate it and i don't want to bake while i drive to work.
> 
> hope everyone's doing well! texas isn't freezing, anymore, i guess. although i wish it'd at least pretend to be chilly and let me use my jackets, you know?
> 
> was tempted to put "tw: hgtv shows" just before posting but that makes me giggle too much
> 
> still editing, still writing. let's keep chugging along.


	22. xxii. a long time ago / the peace flew on broken wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With time to spare, Techno takes a moment to see what his communicator has to offer. Lavender tea helps stem the headache that forms. A world away, Teacher is still an enigma to whatever Techno can recall.
> 
> (Or: Alas, one must always face the fact- or refuse to face the fact- that they are always an unreliable narrator, even of their own story.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "the sermon of sister rust" by jack de quidt, as heard in the podcast friends at the table: COUNTER/weight]

There was an odd cadence to the world after he got the communicator, after he arrived home and slept and woke again. It was a step-step-rhythm that slotted in perfectly to his movements- a song and dance that held no melody, something that spun him around in a controlled direction that he couldn’t pinpoint.

Something was strange. Something was- not quite wrong, but… _off._

Techno’s body remembered. His mind didn’t. It got swept along anyways, comfortably on standby as he found himself flipping through a book that he barely remembered, fingers tracing the edges of words that he couldn’t identify the importance of. Techno breathed in with a book in his hands and breathed out with one hand against the glass to the outside world and the other at his side, book long forgotten.

At times, he’d be wholly himself. Techno would bumble around and let his fingers touch various things that he asked himself the importance of, memories close but not coming to the surface when called. He talked with Wilbur and Tommy and watched meaningless shows- none close to Hypixel’s standard fare- and contemplated going back down to the world below.

At others, though, his body would take him on a waltz that it knew all the steps to, leaving Techno scrambling but unable to be anything other than perfect with the flawless movements of whatever else shared his body. In the middle of the night, a day or two after the incident, his hands went to a jar of something in the back of the pantry, another grasping a bottle in the fridge a few seconds later, spinning round and round until he had a strange kind of drink in his hands, cool and chilled and not at all something he thought he’d have at night.

He didn’t know what it was. Techno smelled it- nothing like tea, nothing like milk, although milk had gone into it- but he drank the dark iced drink on autopilot and it kept him up for the rest of the night, restless and jittery.

Techno drilled himself in things he had no clue existed in the little exercise room he had been avoiding, quiet as could be in the spaces between breaths, hushed so as to not wake his siblings. His mind drifted forth to techniques, to examining what he was doing- but that spark of analytical thought wasn’t quite back yet.

Was this simply another form of drowning in what he hadn’t yet remembered?

Somehow, this back-and-forth within himself wasn’t noticed by Wilbur and Tommy immediately. It wasn’t as if he himself even truly remembered it all- just periods of a lack of thought, or a haziness that never quite brought clarity to the situation. Even during the day, for a time, it was excused as confused fumbling around, which…it wasn’t.

But they noticed, given enough time. Of course they did. How could they not, when some of the actions exhibited were far from what the him of the now wanted to do?

An orbit around the living room. A pause at the wine room, pensive, thinking, before skirting back around to stare at his brothers. Techno adjusted a piece of furniture. Fingers twitched at his sides as if wanting to hold something- and then he left, the first time he acted so oddly within their vision during breakfast to go to the training room.

It was clear that Wilbur and Tommy were… _wondering_ what was going on.

Why would they not, when he was so…like _this?_ The past blurred into the present, memories seeping through and taking care of his mind while the body went onto an automatic track.

Techno daydreamed of learning to cook more and more varied meals, all alone in a too-large kitchen, a cookbook at his side and a voice murmuring from a video in the back of his mind. In the real world, Techno made midnight snacks with a steady hand chopping up ingredients, using the stove, turning to gather what he needed and then a little extra to munch on and fuel the body as he worked.

He remembered flowing through the movements of a stance in the training room. Remembered nobody teaching him but his opponents in fights, reading their movements and trying to strategize past them but also picking up on what they did in the meantime.

The Blade didn’t always use a blade-

But what _was_ the Blade, anyways, he thought? Who was this Blade that he didn’t remember, the pieces of himself being put together and broken apart seconds later, unable to be read properly? What was the difference between the Blood God that haunted his dreams and the Blade that he heard less commonly in whispers? Were they the one and the same in every way that mattered, or was a difference in name a difference in existence?

Either way, he heard his brothers murmuring something to Phil over a call, worried about…something. Techno glanced over, caught up with something, and dismissed it as something to not be worried about.

It didn’t happen often enough to be truly noticable, surely. More often than not, he was smiling faintly at them, trying to collect shards of the life he had once lived, sitting on a bed and thumbing at tight stitches with a thoughtfulness that belied worry. Techno lived and breathed in his own inquiries about himself, and it was always the other two who dragged him out of his room (or the training room, or from the windows, or, or, or-) to eat, to watch shows, to breathe.

It wasn’t every hour of the day that his body tried to reenact something totally different. It was in the quiet moments. The blankest moments- not exactly when he lost himself to a memory, but when he stopped processing things altogether.

If Wilbur and Tommy kept a closer eye on him, if they talked to him a hair more, got him to do more things- well, he sure wasn’t noticing all that well. Even if he did, it was more of a pleasant surprise than anything.

And slowly, slowly but surely- he gathered up the courage to comb through the new presence at the back of his head.

The communicator was patient. It was impersonal. It was probably everything he could have dreamed for in a functionally invasive system designed to transmit actions, subvocalizations, and more through and across servers to people, corporations, and entities that could respond right back and hit the wall that was his actual brain. Intuitive, easy to use, functional beyond belief where Wilbur and Tommy and Phil’s communicators seemed designed to engage sight far more than anything else-

Well, that past him at least held _some_ semblance of taste. _Hah._

But it was a behemoth of a backlog to go through. There were _emails_ , the purpose of which had to be explained to him by a bemused Wilbur- more formal writing than a message, often through more official channels, closer to penpaling with a friend than a message, which had devolved into a conversation about whatever the hell a ‘pen-pal’ was. There were also _chat messages,_ which he was at least _faintly_ familiar with from Phil having shown him some before, with all of them talking quite often about just…messaging people.

Messaging friends. _Family._

And, somehow, he had a few thousand messages stacked up from various people- and a few _tens_ of thousands of emails, _none_ of which were from things or people he recognized.

It was daunting, to say the least. It was a beast that felt impossible to vanquish if not for Tommy’s energetic reassurances that neither were really things to worry about, and things like ‘content filters’ could be turned on and off to make sure he only deleted the stuff that truly wasn’t worth looking at.

His younger sibling had even given a little lesson on it, punctuated with corrections from Wilbur and laughter from Phil when he had called in the middle of Tommy’s lecture, amused as all hell by what he was doing.

“Just take your time,” Phil advised Techno, the warmth of someone who knew what kind of a task was ahead of him by experience. Techno snorted from where he sat, cornered by Tommy into being there at all, and nodded almost to himself before his younger brother demanded to be able to continue.

“Chill it,” he said dryly, but- well- there was no arguing with Tommy.

And now he was here, laying on his bed in the middle of the night, too lazy to get up and do things that required physical work but far too wired to do…nothing. There were really only a few things that one could do in that situation- roll over to sip at the dregs of lavender tea on the bedside table, stare up at the ceiling until his mind decided to say ‘fuck you’ and shut itself off, or…go through the backlog of messages he had left and hope it didn’t implode on him.

Being careful was the name of the game here. _Being careful._

But was being ‘careful’ going through emails, which promised to try and be more professional and less personal- but all aimed at a very specific image of him- or going through messages, where things could be hyperpersonal but he wouldn’t understand any of what was attached?

…Well, maybe a quick skim through both would do, he figured. Wasn’t like there was too much to lose there, all things considered.

(There was so much to lose- but there was also so much to gain. Like every memory connected to whoever had sent him lines to be interpreted by the communicator and let themselves be known at the back of his head.

There was just so much to be gained. Really.

It was just a matter of not being so fucking scared by what the consequences could be- and he was working on that.)

So with that brilliant mind of his, instead of going through the massive backlog he had obtained over the months and possibly more that he had refused to answer anything, communicator broken or not-

Well.

Of course he went through his contacts first instead of anything else. Why would he do actual work when he could do some sleuthing elsewhere?

A few were no-brainers on how he had to deal with them. He closed his eyes and let his brain go through them with a flick of his hand, almost like a little computer or technological system on its own that opened files, scanned through them, and shoved them back into a drawer after he was done with them- and Tommy, Phil, Wilbur passed by as some of the most important files in there, easy as that. No problems there.

What was curious were the names that didn’t entirely come to him. Given enough time, he could puzzle through them forever- and he lingered over names like Skeppy, Simon, and Schlatt with something strange coating his tongue.

That last one sounded familiar, he thought, blackout curtains not letting any light bake behind his eyes. Schlatt. If Techno put his mind a little harder to it, he could think of a more recent snarl from Tommy, a dark look from Wilbur- but in the murkiness of night, it was hard to properly realize and come across. To fully know.

Instead of _elections_ and _fugitives_ and _presidents,_ what came to mind at Schlatt was a crisp suit, a raised eyebrow, a smirk over a glass of whiskey. Schlatt’s name was cast in the same light that Hypixel plunged him into, and wasn’t _that_ interesting- but nothing _concrete_ came up as he thought. Nothing that pointed him to exactly what the person meant to him, all text and contact information rather than the exact messages he had been sent, or any emails the person had deigned to give him, or what.

Memories were tricky. Not everything was something that could shock him into thinking of something he didn’t know, not when he refused to exactly look at anything like the messages that were once sent. The name _Skeppy_ tasted like laughter and races and moments of lightheartedness that he couldn’t pinpoint, a bit of fun before he had to go wade through a swamp. The name _Simon_ brought to him a friendly professionalism, a glass of water instead of wine, conversations on the nature of…something that he couldn’t quite remember. Bets that he took them up on and won, for some reason.

Other names were more familiar. The memories he had of the war driven by potatoes were hazy, but they were _there,_ and the contact for Squid brought him a curious kind of reaction from where he laid- a huff under his breath, an arm coming up to cast over his eyes even in pitch blackness.

_ Squid. _

A joke and a competitor but a friend that…he sort of wanted to talk to again, even if there was the very real possibility of falling into dreams about potatoes, of wanting to farm, of wanting to go back to the island and chuck his cape off and-

No.

No, it wasn’t a good idea to think about it further.

Maybe Squid’s messages could wait until last.

He didn’t have too many real contacts. Some stunk of companies, of names too bland and impersonal for him to care for, labeled with names that rung something of a bell but never stuck. A few names had a little note of [QUARTZ] next to them- and that sour taste at that made him…not look. It wasn’t worth it. They all got shoved into an uncomfortable little folder for him to look at later.

One person was labeled only _Teach-_ and at the sight of that, the chuckle it got him- well, it was the perfect time for a memory to strike. He thought enough about clothes and embroidery and runes that he couldn’t fully bring to mind that it was silly he didn’t have more flashes of the past every time he stared at his cloak.

They weren’t horrible memories either- which was a plus, he thought, as he lost himself to that wonderful melody.

* * *

“You know,” he said, mild and amused as he looked back over his shoulder, “you never told me your name. Never have. You’d think I’d be enough of a friend by now to get that honor.”

“You,” his teacher said with an air of haughtiness around him, “are merely my student. The student does not question the teacher, as you very well know- where did you get the thought that you could question me, mm?”

“Perhaps it’s from your stellar unprofessionalism,” he deadpanned. Turned back to flip a sandwich over on a pan. “Your insistence at eating a grilled cheese when you know I have much better ingredients right next to…the cheapest bread available. You didn’t even choose the _good_ bread.”

Techno paused. Stared at the lightly crackling food before him.

“And perhaps it’s from just how _often_ you’re here,” Techno continued, slow and…thoughtful. He shook the sandwich off of the pan and onto a plate before putting it on the nearby island. Got some of the better bread and better cheese out. Buttered the outsides of the bread, put them on, made sure the cheese could get all melted. _Perfect._ He heard a pleased hum behind him. “…One might think you’re homeless, or something,” he mused, “with how often you like to nap on the couch. Or appear when I’m not here. Snooping, maybe?”

“I’m not _homeless,_ ” they said, snorting and, when he looked back, doubled over with mirth. He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment. “Techno, I- hah, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in forever, gods, homeless- _me-_ how funny-”

“What a _wonderful_ denial.”

“Hey, I never call _you_ homeless-“

“You are literally in my home.”

A sniff. “Touche.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” they declared, “because I get you all the knowledge you want, you know- you _asked_ for this-“

“I did not.”

“You did! You looked out during one of your little interviews and your eyes screamed _‘I need someone to teach me a secret art that would probably get me hunted down if it was known I was a master of the craft’_!”

“…What?”

Thank the gods grilled cheeses weren’t too quick to mess up. He salvaged the lightly burned pieces, made sure they were all nice and smushed together, and tried to turn over the puzzle piece he had been given. _An art that would get me hunted down?_

“…I mean, not literally? But there’s a reason you never hear of thread enchantment, you know? I mean, you _had_ to have heard of it, being as in with high society as you are, but- well. If people know it’s you they can, like. Track you down and demand that you make them everything they want. And people would do anything to get it cheap. Or for free through…persuasion.” They laughed, short and humorless. “Some people’d do more than just demand something.”

…Yeah, _that_ wasn’t something he was going to follow up on. “Your sandwich’s been done for a minute or two now,” he said, changing the subject quite blatantly, and nodded to the plate that he had slid over to his teacher a few moments before. “Eat up. You look like you need it, after all, homeless as you are.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

Perhaps, he thought, teaching wasn’t all about the academics of it all. It could be a friendship between student and teacher. It could be vastly different quality sandwiches shared in a comfortable silence, neither figure looking at each other until they were done and back to debating the finer points of a multi-threaded enchantment sequence.

Really, _Techno, if you don’t focus on it with everything you have it’ll collapse in on itself,_ wynn _isn’t the right one to use-_

 _Why would I not want anything but the best? You call yourself a master or what? What would_ you _suggest instead?_

 _Well, for one, this is too bold to be anywhere and not be seen so you need an invisibility-dyed sequence interjecting it if you want to keep it on the down-low, which would be next to_ impossible _without losing sleep and time and health to it-_

_ Sounds like quitter talk. _

_ I swear- _

Yeah, this was good. It was a respite from tournaments, from sinking his teeth in deep enough for them to be bloodied the next day. It was a break from standing over bodies and being mindful of a missed fleck or two of blood on his cheek when he addressed whatever group wanted his closing remarks that night.

It was something to do when you didn’t want to focus on whatever scars were gained every so often, too.

Techno never died, sure, but the god could be wounded. Why not embroider and theorize and talk with his teacher to let that pain pass by quicker?

He hadn’t asked for it, but he knew he owed his teacher for their reaching out.

He was pretty sure they knew that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a short(er) one today. is it just a joke, or is this reality? to what extent can someone be an unreliable narrator? not like there are too many secrets to be had here, but it was too fun to not pass up.
> 
> my cat got in the way of the process uploading this. say hi to my cat sugar, folks. she doesn't care about any of yall.
> 
> have a nice day. if you haven't seen tommy's stream today (~3/1/21), uh....well. hope you're vibing?


	23. xxiii. (it’s catalyzing with) a breath of calefaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno wishes he could go back to farming. The news runs yet another segment on their mysterious ex-star. Tommy and Wilbur delight in what is known as wearing topical Techno merchandise that he does not entirely understand.
> 
> (Or: apparently, he hadn't gone MIA and left without telling anybody. That's something of a faint surprise.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "notus" by the oh hellos]

Techno laid oh-so still in his bed, heart _th-thumping_ in a jumpy staccato rhythm that wouldn’t settle down. He opened his eyes. The blackness didn’t change except for a peek of cyan curling around the edge of a curtain.

He closed his eyes again.

The communicator hummed happily at him, forever patient to stay open to what it was already showing him in the back of his consciousness.

A contact. _Teach._ No other name provided.

…Something that had never been added since the contact was created. At all, according to the changelog that sent over its data when he twisted a hand just so.

It was a curious thing, one that he had no control over- he could have known of their name for forever or could have just never figured it out. That, though- that was all the realm of past Techno, the one that had all the control over whatever was shoved into his active memory or to his communicator, in that corner that now kept itself cheerily inactive or active at will for him.

It was a mystery he couldn’t figure out. But there was- was- _something_ had murmured in that memory, something had appeared and made itself known and now he was back to trying to fit cryptic pieces together as if it was the worst puzzle in existence.

_ Hunt you down. _

A _secret art._

Techno didn’t exactly _have_ the moment of when he was approached to learn the method of enchantment in his library of memories. He didn’t know- _couldn’t_ know- exactly what to do. He didn’t know how to sleuth that out, or how to connect everything up so he had that knowledge of the art of thread enchanting back to _use_ again. It was functionally re-lost, even if parts were revealed to him sparingly.

Gods, why was remembering so- so- so _frustrating?_

He still couldn’t sleep. His contacts remained merrily open- Teach, Squid, Phil, everyone else and then those contacts from companies and then some more which were _entirely_ alien. Mulling over them- over any of it, the information presented through the contacts stream of data relatively impersonal and bland- brought to mind no memories. He lingered on them, lingered on that boring information attached- ranks within the system, public flair that was quite obvious to see as if it were an ID-

But he didn’t really _care,_ did he? The ranking system meant nothing to Techno, since he couldn’t contextualize it. The **[PIG+++]** that sat at the back of his own personal information as if bolded through the data filtering through his head held no meaning to him other than being quite obviously _different_ to everything else.

(Some people were absent of an obvious rank at all.)

It was all curious, curious even with the blandness of it all- but…he was getting exhausted. His mind was running and rerunning loops that he didn’t entirely understand, set right on a hellish track to eternity and back. Techno breathed in and out, made sure to set the communicator to _off_ and _inactive_ , and made sure again that his eyes were closed before he tried to rest, no bubbling murmur in his head other than memories trying and failing to float to the surface.

He dreamt of threads. Of bloodstains. Of a figure obscured with something he couldn’t quite see, examining a cloak with an ever-set smile.

* * *

It was odd, to not be able to farm.

It was something he didn’t entirely get. There was a confinement to that, really- there were no plants in the apartment other than the dried lavender that was brought in to scent his personal room. Well, no plants that didn’t seem to just be for decoration, already on some kind of auto-watering system- or simply fake, since he hadn’t been watering them at all.

Techno wanted to feel dirt beneath his feet again. He wanted to farm potatoes, less out of a necessity and more out of a _want_ for that quiet atmosphere of Phil’s again. The lovely volume there was like a blanket that wrapped around him, comfortable and soothing. The quiet that fell here, in his apartment- it wasn’t _welcome_ in the way it was at Phil’s. It wasn’t peppered with anything but an air conditioning system, faint sounds of the city, of quiet breathing instead of the sounds of nature and life and _good_. It wasn’t something he entirely liked, if he were being honest.

Well. He _was_ being honest.

He wanted to dig out potatoes. He wanted to sweat and check on his harvest and make sure the rest was fine, the rest of the things that Phil planted were doing well, wanted to fish if everything was done so he could still marvel at the fact that something would bite.

He wanted to get lost in it again with the anchoring knowledge that there would be someone to pull him back out of the routine if need be.

But he _couldn’t_.

Phil, when he mentioned it to him, laughed. Techno could use this communicator to call him, now, absentmindedly perched in the living room while Wilbur squinted at the microwave a few paces away and as Tommy stayed busy by being passed out in his little guest room. He could sense Phil, in that part of his brain that the communicator lived in- could know, even, the way that he smiled and exactly how he looked. It was almost like a video in the proper sense, except…in HD? High quality? Whatever the term actually turned out to be- sent from firing synapses back to his brain. There was no proper video response, but it didn’t seem like Phil minded, with the fact that he had his communicator on a counter while he chopped up vegetables for a meal.

Phil laughed and laughed and _laughed_ at his talk of wanting to farm before getting that soft-eyed look that really _got_ Techno- the one that said _I care, I know what you’re feeling, I sympathize._ “I really miss you guys, too,” he murmured, and Techno could see behind his closed eyelids Phil’s sad little smile. “Your potatoes are doing great, mate, anyhow. Staggering them was a good idea- I mean, I _know_ they grow fast, especially with the way private servers work, but there’s always something going in, something going out. I’m trying to keep that situation going.”

“Good,” Techno said, subtle jaw movements and bits of the throat coming together to subvocalize the way he had finally figured out to do. It had been a challenge to properly get all of that back, mostly driven by half-memories of him having conversations with people while he was pretending to listen to someone else and the muscle memory that came along with it- but it was _useful._ He didn’t always want the others listening in on what he was saying, anyways, and Wilbur seemed a bit too preoccupied with the kitchen and microwave to need a distraction.

 _Honestly._ He was half sure his brother would burn down the place if not for the fact that he knew Wilbur was mumbling an ingredients list and something about times for the microwave.

“I just…” Techno gave an idle little hum, nothing loud enough to carry to Wilbur but something that transmitted over to Phil all the same. “I just don’t like that I can’t farm, here. There’s nothing to focus on but. But for who I used to be. The person that lived here.”

“ _You_ lived there,” Phil responded, and oh, how he knew the way that half-broken tone hid all the buried wishes for him to return exactly as he had been before the incident. _How bittersweet._ “It’ll get easier, okay? Just try to find something to busy your hands, okay? How do puzzles sound? Maybe cooking? You liked cooking back here, a bit. Just not as many potatoes in your pantry now that you’re in the big city again.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “I’ll…find something to do.”

“Love you, Tech. You’ll do just fine. Potatoes aren’t the whole world, remember that.”

“…Yeah.”

Of course, of course, _of course-_

The obvious course to go after the conversation would probably be to…find a jigsaw puzzle in the apartment to go with Phil’s suggestions, if there was one. Maybe go and check up on Wilbur to find out whatever the hell he actually wanted to make. Was making. _Whatever_.

Instead, the ghost haunting him decided to pilot him right back to his bedroom before rooting around in various drawers for bits and bobs that he only realized halfway through were…were for embroidery.

Techno hadn’t known embroidery. _Didn’t_ know it, rather. All he knew was what was told to him in half-remembered flashes and whatever his mind decided to pull up by roulette. But- he was threading the needle, the door closed behind him. He was puzzling over a hoop for a second before his hands fastened everything without him paying attention.

The next thing he knew, there were a series of shitty little designs dotting their way around blank fabric. There was the scent of lavender in his nostrils flaring as he stared down at the hoop, at his hand, looking up to see no change in the world outside. He looked down again to see that half of a leaf had been added.

 _Wait._ That wasn’t actually a leaf. He blinked again and it revealed itself to his eyes, rubbed lightly until he wasn’t imagining things- little runes were stitched onto the fabric.

_ Ah. _

He didn’t recognize even half of what was on there. A few he could murkily name were scattered about, stressed with importance from the memories- _thorn, ash,_ to name two- but so many more looked more complicated, more esoteric, more… _more._

Techno grimaced. Set it aside. He went fishing, again, in drawers for secrets of the world he hadn’t known about until this _Teach_ had given it to him on a silver platter- what looked to be a mostly-finished scarf with tiny runes in gold, another that looked to be a pair of trousers with some of their inside parts stitched neatly, and…and…

Techno pulled out a jacket. It was made of a strong blue fabric- _jean fabric,_ his mind supplied- and it had…nothing on it. It was packed with all of the rest, though, but- what had even been the point of this?

A gift? A commission? Something personal?

He changed out a thread, the ghost of his past repossessing him. He breathed in and out and let himself drift in and out of focus, tiny runes finding themselves at the edge of a circle before spiraling inwards. There wasn’t a ton of work that could be done in such a short time- but there was a row of runes. Half of another. He blinked once and found that ten runes had been added to the five he had absentmindedly been stitching in.

His hands weren’t cramped. He frowned, just a little bit. Pricked his finger with a needle.

Yes, that still hurt.

Wait- _still?_

There was a comfort in sewing unknown symbols onto a mostly unknown piece of clothing, one that didn’t seem as if it would fit him. There was a soothing nature to it, something that calmed down his worries, his want to pace and grumble and think about potatoes. For the time he stitched, he barely thought of anything at all- and when he did, it was as if he were drifting, floating on a sea of the room’s underlying scent of lavender.

Come to think of it- he wanted lavender tea. Making some would probably be better than doing nothing, right?

If Wilbur opened the door to peek his head in just as Techno finished putting all the supplies away, unaware of the sorting system that he slotted everything into perfectly- well, it didn’t matter what he had been doing anyways, right? Wilbur made food. Techno was about to make tea.

Somehow, he thought, things would get better.

* * *

Things…somehow, things got better.

They did. They really did. Techno woke up and he breathed and he tried to find his footing and he went back to sleep every day only marginally sure that he had been able to do so. He juggled all of the balls of his past life, ducking one only to crash into the others, and was there really any sure footing to really be found amongst it all?

But it was better than before, in some strange kind of way.

And then, one day, he found that his face was staring back at him from the news.

Techno woke up, rolled out of bed and trudged out of the room to find Wilbur engrossed at the television- and, yes, that was his own face. It was unnatural, it was touched up, his eyelashes curled and lengthened and makeup just enough to make him ethereal and otherworldly- but it was him.

“Techno, come, come look at this, isn’t it hilarious- look-“

_ TECHNO, HYPIXEL’S BLADE, RETURNING TO THE SERVER? _

Ah. That was uncomfortable to see. He gulped and let his communicator access an online news feed, which…didn’t actually have much of note on it besides a title that echoed the broadcast’s. He couldn’t parse everything they were saying on the screen proper, but-

“It’s been heard that we may have the only undefeated champion of Hypixel back after leaving the hub for a stint in the most recent expansion to the server- has he renounced his last public remarks before leaving, or is this just a cosplayer with a convincing attitude?”

“I’m not too sure, Lee, but it seems like we’ll have our work cut out for us! Fans have been out and about, and some of them look quite legit! Here, we have our interview with one of the most popular social media influencers as of late to give us their opinion, as a long-time Techno cosplayer and fan…”

Ah. He hated this.

He _knew_ he hated this.

Techno promptly turned back around and went into his room again.

Being known, he thought, was a terrible, terrible ordeal.

Of course, Tommy and Wilbur thought it was funny. For his own part, Techno was caught up in thoughts about companies, about what ‘last public remarks’ could have meant, about the fact that he really was popular enough to have… _doppelgangers._

He got a lot of stitching done that day. A lot of spacing out before the inevitable call from beyond his locked door-

“Hey, Techno, let’s head out- it’s the perfect time! Take a look, see the sights, remember the good things, huh? You didn’t do everything here! And I know it, I talked to you once and you went on this _whoooole_ rant about the best places in the city-“

No. Of course not. He refused. They had just run a news segment on him.

“But every Techno fan’ll be out! You’ll just be another person with what people think is a wig or cool dyed hair and knowledge on how to fake scars with makeup and whatever black magic those people use to look like you and you’ll just, just _blend_ into the crowd-“

“Tommy,” he called out, exasperated, heart trying its hardest to thump a little harder, a little louder, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I…my…my ears. My hair. My _tusks_. My…voice?”

“All things cosplayers can mimic,” Wilbur interjected, audibly clapping his hands past the barrier with an ear-to-ear grin coming through in his voice. “It’ll be good to get you out of the house, dear brother of ours! You’ve been too much of a shut-in for the past two, three weeks! What better than accompanying us to your favorite places, curated by… _yourself!_ ”

…For some reason, he was pretty sure that the favorite places he had apparently told them about weren’t exactly his favorites. But. There was a point at which arguments meant nothing against two brothers hell-bent on reintroducing him to the wider world, and it was blatantly obvious that they were on a warpath that would not be stopped, come hell or high water.

Even when he let them drag him around.

Phil was…unsympathetic, when he called to protest it all after Wilbur finally cajoled him out of his room with promises of lavender tea. Whatever. It seemed that, apparently, telling his older brothers that he had been planning on shocking himself into remembering by nearly dying again and again was worse than being in a crowd of people, barely able to breathe- or having to, ah, _interact_ with those people.

Eugh.

_ Logic. _

“Off you go, Techno,” Wilbur told him with a bright smile, patting him on the shoulder and nudging him right back towards his room. Techno, still in comfortable pajamas that hadn’t been taken off for at least a day or two, scowled. “Wear a hoodie, one of your nice ones! Apparently it’s pretty cold out, maybe bring a second, you always get too fucking _cold_ -“

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” Wilbur crooned. “Off. Off you go, sweet summer child. Get something that makes you look like a fan. A bit of merch. It’ll be funny.”

“Oh- oh- _fuck,_ you reminded me, Wil, I need to get my Techno hoodie-“

“Now _that’s_ the spirit, Tommy! Techno, just- just go, come on, it’ll be fun! You’ll love it!”

“For some unfathomable reason,” he deadpanned, “I know I absolutely won’t love it.”

And of _course_ some of the pieces in his wardrobe were, in fact, presumably merch. He hadn’t exactly noted it, hadn’t known any of the in-jokes- but _Blood God_ on a shirt rung an uncomfortable bell, bringing to mind how he had thought of himself in hazy memories. Similarly, _the Blade Never Dies_ on a hoodie kept pinging something inside of him until he uncomfortably adknowledged that its origins were probably similar to the other title.

Techno stared at another hoodie emblazoned with ‘Blood for the Blood God’ and quite seriously debated running away from his apartment, his brothers, and the server to never come back again.

How did one appear as a fan? What was ‘fan culture’ like? He looked at himself in the mirror after choosing the _Blade_ hoodie, comforted in the fact that it had runes that gave off the feeling of _hiding_ stitched into them. Overlayed on his face, in the back of his mind, came adverts and polished looks like what the news showed that he could barely remember having been done. He could almost breathe in makeup from where he stood, thought of something being applied to his face, his posture being checked, multiple people looking critically at him until a shoot was finally over and he could relax-

Except…not. Because he had the sense that he hadn’t liked any of them and oh, _gods,_ shards of memories and muscle memory had faded remarkably well into his everyday life and he stopped his hand seconds away from opening a drawer, hand going for….foundation, of all things. His body was doing things that he didn’t want it to do.

He put it back on the bathroom counter, feeling oddly like he was- and wasn’t- in his own body. He wasn’t drifting, but…that had been. _Weird._

No makeup was put on, in the end. He brought his hair up and grimaced at it before taking it down again, too tired to even try doing something to it besides rounding it up into a ponytail.

Maybe it’d help with being seen as a… _cosplayer._

He was pretty sure he knew what those were, right?

_ …Right. _

“Lookin’ _good,_ ” Tommy shouted from across the room when he appeared in the central room, the two of them coming out at the same time. Techno looked down at himself- a bit scruffy, hair brushed through but not sprayed and combed within an inch of perfection, probably looking too exhausted and haggard for his own good- but he felt…normal. Tommy, for his part, mostly just had on a huge grin and a hoodie that was far too similar to Techno’s own.

 _‘THE BLOOD GOD NEVER DIES,’_ the text on Tommy’s hoodie yelled in a bright crimson. The black background of the hoodie looked… _odd_ on him, just as the mainly muted red hood on Techno with its own text in a calming off-white seemed _odd_ for Techno.

Maybe not, actually. It was a pretty soft hoodie. Pretty good, even on top of the long-sleeved shirt he had on underneath.

Wilbur gave them both a once-over. “Techno, maybe…go grab a scarf. You get cold way too easily, gods, and the forecast said it was chilly...”

He thought of wintery fields, of cold seeping into him even with the shawl he had made providing extra protection, of crows and shivering and mindless misery. Thought of the few days the cold had hinted at biting on Phil’s field, bundling himself up in a long-sleeved shirt _and_ a hoodie under his cloak when on a normal day it would be far too hot to have more than a short-sleeved shirt under there.

Techno fetched a scarf, all muted creams and golds, and sank into the warmth it gave as they went on their first proper venture all together outside of the apartment since they arrived.

Wilbur and Tommy were happy. _Elated._ As if they wanted to say _Finally, we’re out with Techno, too, and it’s only been a few fucking weeks!_ but were too kind to say so.

For his part, he pushed his hands into the hoodie’s central pocket and tried his best to zone out as they left.

It wouldn’t do to linger on the moods of his brothers.

He’d only get bitter if he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> considered not posting today. sometimes people can be rude. hm. whatever. i've had a fun time playing omori. just got past the prolouge.
> 
> have a nice day. night. all that.


	24. xxiv. all things turn to rust by and by / and that's fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno goes out for a day on the town. Techno fans, similarly, are out in droves. Wilbur and Tommy just have a good time.
> 
> (Or: When there are people striving their hardest to copy your exact appearance, blending into the crowd is barely something of note.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from "the sermon of sister rust" by jack de quidt]

How did one act like a fan? Did he appear all excited that the one and only _Blade_ could possibly be out and about? Did he actively approach any who looked like him, even remotely, and ask if they were…himself?

“You’re thinking about it too much, bitch,” Tommy told him very… _matter-of-factly_ as they started their venture, already out on the sidewalks. Techno, with his hood up to guard from a slight chill, was only getting one or two views as they went by- but most seemed to dismiss him and pass over him. _Nice_. “Just act yourself.”

Like _that_ was a foolproof way to not be discovered.

Tommy was so _dumb_ sometimes.

Crowds, just like before, set his nerves on fire. He stared and spun and held onto at least one of his brothers at all times, feeling almost like a speck of dust amidst the swarm. Thankfully, the crowds thinned out soon enough, giving him enough space to let his stressed, stuttering heart calm down a little. The main roads were the true culprits, the veins of the city that spread out from the center. Even with waypoints, they couldn’t reach everywhere without making the city implode- so they walked.

And walked.

And _walked._

Once, he imagined if he thought hard enough about it, there had been things that people drove around on to get around in the middle of the street. If he remembered correctly- which was almost like a joke, come to think about it, _remembering_ \- Techno was pretty sure that was only a staying invention in the first wave of servers, all ancient beyond belief by now. Why use something like that when you could use a waypoint, or the public transportation that Wilbur and Tommy led him to?

“So _I_ fucking hate these,” Tommy declared as soon as he stepped into the box that was waiting on the edge of a platform, flowing into it with everyone else that had been waiting. “Like, they go to the places that are in the middle of waypoints but it’s so annoying! You showed me this place we’re going to like, three years ago, and it was _so horrible_ getting there. You enjoyed it, of course, but I swear to-“

“ _Inside voice,_ Tommy.”

“You can’t tell me what to do! I’m a _law-abiding guest_ of the server and I will _not_ be treated like-“

“Tommy,” Wilbur said, all sing-song like, “nobody around you appreciates the little outburst. We love you, little child, we do, but save it for home!”

“Fuck you,” Tommy muttered. “You’re the _worst,_ Wil. Be more like your other fuckin’ brother here. Quiet.”

“I love you too!”

Truth be told, Techno thought he could see the beauty in the transport from where he stood woodenly, staring out the window as the box ran along quietly on a track throughout the city. Where once he had been staring at countless high-rises, smaller and smaller buildings started to pop up until they had left the richer parts of the city behind.

Well. Not _quite-_ but the more eye-searing parts, with every inch covered by advertisements, perhaps.

He could see plants. Trees. More varied architecture. It was…refreshing.

When they got off, three stops later, Techno marveled at the sights, the sounds, the smells that surrounded him without worrying about other people for a second.

What _was_ it about the outdoors? What was it about the pop of green that soothed something in him, even if it was an urban landscape with green spots carefully chosen? Around here, there were less people packed into one space, but…that wasn’t it. He could see a sparrow. Could see a cat staring at him judgmentally from the window of a building, tail flicking wildly as it sat and watched.

It was just as…hi-tech as the rest of the server, but _muted._ Perfect little store after perfect little store lined the streets, interrupted by a place of prayer or a small park or some other public feature or small entry to private residences. There was still a polished feel that made everything seem _lacking,_ in some way- but it looked more lived in, too.

The duality of some parts of Hypixel baffled him. (Had they baffled whoever had used this body last?)

Techno rubbed at his eyes. When he opened them again, his brothers stood there, patiently waiting. Or- as much as they could be, given Tommy’s rabbit-tap of an irritated foot.

“…Maybe the outing isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” he allowed, rolling his eyes when both Wilbur and Tommy cheered. _Bunch of overexcited kids. Not like one’s older than me or anything_. “Honestly, you’d think that you two are the ones out here for the first time…”

“It’s not _your_ first time either, come, come here, we’re nearly there!”

 _It_ is _my first time here,_ Techno felt tempted to retort, but eventually he just shook his head and sighed at it all. It wasn’t like the semantics mattered, not to them, but. Well. It mattered to him.

But his body knew the path they were walking. It made his stomach growl, made him long for…for good food. For cakes and coffee and tea and floral accents.

He followed them quietly.

The place they took him to was a cafe.

_ What a surprise. _

_The Techno that showed them these places is alien to me, no matter the memories that I get._ If he let himself try and remember, he could taste fruit on his tongue. Could smell tea, pastries, sweets. Could feel his own hand quietly resting on Tommy to keep him quiet as he told an employee his order. _That was not me, can’t you see? How many times has this been a topic of conversation? When will you realize that that was truly not me, and you are mistaken in more ways than one about it all?_

It was all _airy_ and _light_ and Techno could taste the fruit of a tart again in his mouth, knew that if he let his nostrils flare that he could smell the baking pastries and the general sweetness of the room. Soft chatter filled the room, people sitting in seats that seemed more inclined for beauty than for comfort, and there was something inside of Techno that murmured: _This is not you, this is not you, this is not you. This is for show._

_ Places like these, no matter how good the food, are always for show if it’s guiding a brother around the server to what they might think are the best spots.  _

Which wasn’t entirely surprising, if he were being honest with himself.

The line was nearly out the door, which was strike one. Standing in a line for the better part of ten to fifteen minutes or more was…not his idea of a good time. Tommy seemed genuinely excited, though, right next to Wilbur who seemed like he was at least looking forward to whatever he’d be getting. Techno felt out of place. A square peg in a round hole.

…There were three people who looked like him in this room.

When he pointed it out to Wilbur, his brother nearly snorted himself into reeling backwards against Techno. When Tommy was told- well, it was a duo effort on the part of Wilbur and him to keep the kid quiet.

“That one’s probably the best out of the bunch,” Wilbur murmured to him when Tommy’s laughter died down, dipping his head towards someone who was wearing a cape, a crown, long pink hair (wig? Dyed? Who knew?) tied into a low bun. They were talking with someone else, a regular-looking person if not for a little crown pin on their shirt-

 _Oh._ That was why Wilbur had said they were the closest to reality- almost real-looking tusks were laying on the table, clearly waiting to be put back on the first person after they ate, and their ears were long, their eyes dark and quite possibly a reddish shade. Not that he’d get any closer to confirm that.

But it looked…almost eerily close to what he looked like, if not for the flawless makeup they had, the tusks on the table (and on a napkin), the laughing friend that rung absolutely no bells to him.

Maybe it did look like what he had looked like, if you counted the makeup.

He watched them for a second more and sighed when someone walked up to the person to compliment them.

Techno turned back to face the blackboard at the counter with the menu and steadfastly tried to think about what he wanted to get instead of the various people in this one room who looked similar to him.

And he was not going to put the hood of his hoodie down. He would _not_. He _refused._

No matter how much the time drug on and made him feel awkward.

Tommy got something painfully sweet, something that even Techno knew was an impending toothache as he recieved it. Wilbur’s order wasn’t much better, even if a little snack he got was of the savory sort- he snorted softly and ordered a mocha latte, nursing the drink alone as they slowly circled their way out.

It was nice. Hot. A bit bitter even with the chocolate, which kept him a bit more alert than he would have been otherwise. He peered at the cosplayers as he left and tilted his head, checked the communicator-

Not any more new news about him except for a few posts marveling at the fact that people were pulling back out all of their Techno things.

 _Special rerun of the Best of Techno’s King’s Duels_ , an advertisement chimed happily in his head for an announcements section, and he batted it away with a sharp frown and a flick of his pointer finger.

“And his whole catchphrase,” he caught at the corner of his hearing as they left, “or, well, what everyone else says- _Techno never dies._ And I’m _pretty_ sure that he-“

“He never died?”

Techno stilled. Gave a long blink. Wilbur pulled him further along so he wasn’t blocking the entrance.

“So, we’re going to-“

It was too late for Wilbur to distract him. The statement had already wound its way into hellish repetition in his head.

He was gone.

* * *

There was a kid in front of him that painfully reminded him of who he used to be.

“Techno n’eva dies,” they declared cheerfully, holding up a sword and beaming at him to grin and bare two very clearly fake, plastic tusks. A pink wig, a little crown, a little cape-

“I’m getting younger every day,” he deadpanned, nodding to where the kid was standing behind the roped away crowd. The assistant shadowing his steps snorted softly into their communicator. He smiled faintly and watched as the crowd went wild at the statement, at the few scraps of information and humor that he’d dole out like a parent sparingly giving away candy to children.

_ Predictable. That’ll be all over social media in a few minutes. _

“You’re expected at the meet and greet in ten minutes,” they told him, quiet enough to not carry but loud enough to be heard over the din of constant screaming and yelling at him. “As per company policy, you-“

“Have to be there for the allotted minimum time, I know,” he snorted. “This…ain’t my first rodeo, believe me.”

He waved to the crowd. Winked at the kid. Watched as a sea of regular people, pink wigs, and genuinely dyed hair bobbed back at him. There were _far_ too many crowns.

_ Tacky. Maybe I should see if I’m allowed to change the aesthetic. _

Still a teenager, even if he’d age out of it in another year or two, and people imitated him like this.

“I never said it was,” the assistant demurred. “I was just…company policy.”

“…I get it. I really do.” The side of his mouth twitched upwards a little more as he sent a message to their communicator with a twitch of his fingers.

_ What a shitshow, I know. New? _

A nod.

_ At least it’s not the worst job you could have gotten with them. _

A beat. A pause.

They never sent him a message back.

The two of them kept on walking, one world-renowned and the other nameless, away from the crowd and into a waiting room.

The fans could just be patient and wait to see him again for another nine minutes, couldn’t they? They’d have him all they wanted, then, until he was ushered away for whatever else they had on his schedule.

He just wanted to go home.

He just wanted to rest.

But the luck of the draw had given Techno this, so, well. It seemed like a few hours of letting himself run on bored autopilot was ahead of him.

_ Lucky me. _

* * *

The next place they took him to was stunning, when he could blink himself into reality enough to process things. It was something to gape at, a place with a line that they cut with something that Wilbur flashed- _[MVP++],_ his mind murmured, _you got him that, good job, good job-_ and treated them like honored guests.

Faintly, he thought of ritzy dining rooms and of forms and of stilted conversation- but he could still taste the mocha drink that he had discarded somewhere along their journey, so he focused on that and let the impressions of memories slide past, refused to let them catch a hold on him.

No, this was…

What even _was_ this place?

He stopped, a few strides in, and just stared. Tommy pulled him further along.

“This is…”

“An aquarium,” Wilbur said, almost preening himself with how pleased he looked. “You showed me this two years ago, and it’s _probably_ the best place of all. Even the cafe that Tommy loves is worse. Even Tommy’s real favorite place- the _arenas-_ are worse. An aquarium with fish from this world and all of the ones mainly connected to it as well as some from other regions of the universe- tell me it isn’t cool, these little fuckers, the way they swim around and shit.”

“It’s very cool,” he told Wil, and let himself be pulled along as he examined the tanks and tried to find what he felt was a missing puzzle piece. There wasn’t anything he could find, not concrete or real proof to his mild thoughts, but he could almost feel something going on.

This wasn’t a place that Techno had loved.

It was a place that the past him had told Wilbur he loved just so Wilbur would go along and fall in love with it instead.

If he were willing to bet money, he was pretty sure he’d get his money back and then some if he thought that it was likely for him to have shown Tommy the cafe just because of a certain item they had, or places around the area, and acted like he really loved it above all else.

Techno wondered how many other places they thought he loved. How many places they imagined he’d like just because a previous self had said something about it.

Stronger impressions came to mind- names. _Milo. New Milo. Sally._ They echoed in his mind a half-beat before Wilbur pointed specific fish out, looking giddy that he had spotted them at all.

If he focused hard enough, he could remember a slightly different scene, one where he was shorter, one where Wilbur’s hair didn’t curl just so-

 _“We’ll call this one Milo,” Wilbur decided, “and the smaller one New Milo- oh, oh, look over there, now she’s a beauty, there’s no_ way _her name isn’t Sally-“_

_ “Sally? Really? Out of all the names that you could have chosen?” _

_ “Well, what would you choose, dumbass? Don’t tell me something like Joe or, gods forbid, Carl.” _

_ “…” _

_ “You really were going to suggest something like that, you little-“ _

_ “Wilbur, hey-“ _

Techno thought about memories. About reminders. About the way that the light overhead had filtered onto them, reflected off from the water and playing on them in much the same way that the lights of the city adored in his apartment, no matter the location- what he had now, or the harsh red that peeked into his vision from something even hazier, something even smaller and dingier.

That was something for another time. He rolled his shoulder. Ignored the twinge of old and newer wounds and scars alike.

“You know,” he mused, “Sally really could have used a better name than…Sally.”

“Oh, don’t you start on that again, I _swear_ -“

* * *

There came a point at their adventure when Techno couldn’t tell the time. It wasn’t like it mattered, since it was a click away in his head through the communicator, but the liminal space they were in seemed to lend itself well to uncertainty. To chance. He considered it after the third space they went to, a too-clean store where his brothers pointed out some things he had at home and other things he had shown them on their first time there- and he wondered.

He wondered where he would go, if his legs were allowed to wander. Did he still know the most frequent paths he took? Would he be willing to trudge straight back across the city for something more, for something special?

What even qualified as special, when all of your interests were helped along with blood money?

…Probably not the best term, upon further consideration.

But. Wilbur and Tommy, upon hearing his musings, seemed… _thoughtful_. They stared at him and texted someone- Phil, he presumed- and upon some message, they both grinned and looked back to him and both motioned as if they were opening up some kind of grand walkway to him.

“After you, your Highness,” Tommy snickered.

…He didn’t even have the crown that people were cosplaying on his head. He didn’t even have his hair tied in some interesting way.

Everything would be fine. He was just another tired, dedicated fan if anyone asked. He knew all of the bits, sure. He knew every debut and tournament and everything.

Sure, he did.

(It struck him, a bit, the thought of fans and superfans- all who knew so many of the facts that had made up a part of the whole. So many facts that he still didn’t know, too scared to search them up online and have them rush him.

He rather thought that he didn’t want to dwell on it any further.)

“I’m not your monarch,” he said dryly, and lead the way into the unknown.

* * *

"Fuck you, Techno. Prick.”

Techno’s ear flicked as he tilted his head to the side, turning lightly to see Wilbur approaching with a wry smile. They were both awake in the middle of the night, although only Techno was supposed to be up, and he glanced back down to the sword in his hands, up to the world around them, and didn’t look back at Wilbur’s unreadable face.

“Supposed to be sleepin’,” he said gruffly, moving from his relaxed position to something more at attention, better to observe the terrain, their half-built house, their server that wasn’t even a week old. “Watch changes in five, not now.”

“Phil didn’t apply for the license.” Wilbur was quiet, for a moment, as if that would coerce an answer- and then he snorted. “I mean, maybe he did, maybe a few months ago when he started talking about it. But…that shit can take years, Techno. Not. Not months.”

“Wilbur.”

“Techno.”

He sheathed his sword and turned to look at the landscape behind them, the treeline so close by. It was a few beats before he swung his bow off of his back and took aim, brought the arrow close, reached for it-

And that was another spider dead. He could collect the arrow in the morning.

“I don’t even know how licenses work,” he said, the exhaustion seeping through his voice, his quiet nature sturdy and still under Wilbur’s gaze. It was true, even. Always truth. Sure. “My name carries a lot, sure. And I’m pretty sure we’re all registered as brothers. Probably someone wantin’ to get on my good side.”

 _We can even push people up in the queue for licenses,_ a former whisper sounded in his ear. He flicked it. Drew the bow up again at a flicker of movement. Stared dispassionately as a spider fell right next to its brethren, dumb as could be.

_ It’s the least we could do for our star, right? A few years with us already, and you’re still climbing…Maybe you could go for a sweep of the main records at some point, huh? _

_ …A sweep of the main records. _

_ What, you can’t do it? Should we let the queue stay as is? I mean, that flagged application in the system… _

_ Really. _

“On your good side,” Wilbur echoed. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you not look at the internet? At advertisements and shows and interviews and their tournaments?”

“…Bit busy tourin’.”

He had taken time out of his schedule to come here, to help build. Given, he was maybe with his family before all this about half the time and there the other half- but Quartz had been steadily increasing his time there.

Maybe he was due to get a new place. A new apartment, one that wasn’t cramped and annoying and well, well below the means he now had.

_ Really, Techno. _

_ …What’re the main ones, again? The records? _

“I’m getting better,” he said woodenly. “At fighting. Maybe you should take a look at my events one day.”

“Fuck you.”

“Your music’s good.”

A long pause.

_ Good lad. _

Techno sighed. Rolled his shoulders and stretched just so, his bones popping with a loud sound, an exhaustion running stronger than ever through them.

“…Get some sleep, Techno. I’ll start my watch early. I’ll just wake you up later.”

He snorted. Softly.

“Not a chance, Wil.”

“Well, _gods_ , you could let me be the nice guy for _once_ in my life-“

“Bed. Now.” He shooed Wilbur away with a lazy hand, not looking back over at him. He refused to look. Refused to deal with more emotion than he could handle at that moment. “I’ll wake you in the five hours.”

“…Night.”

He just huffed. Listened to the footsteps go away.

A rattling appeared at the edge of his hearing. He spun, loosed an arrow, and went running after the skeleton that had appeared right by the water, discarding the bow in favor of his sword. Arrows were _terrible_ with them, swords okay, if only he had an _axe_ —

Later, he woke Wilbur with a searing ache crawling through his bones, various bits of monster gunk coating him, and melted onto the floor of their temporary hidey-hole while their home was built to pass out for the rest of the night.

At least dreams didn’t like to come when he exhausted himself to sleep.

* * *

So far, _the unknown_ just seemed to entail a lot of aimless walking and waiting.

But. They were having fun. Or, he assumed they were.

As much as it surprised him, really, they were having fun. Techno mostly stayed quiet, watching and listening to the banter between Wilbur and Tommy, but they included him easily, not falling back as completely on in-jokes as they had when they had first seen him without knowing how deep the amnesia went. He entered and exited the conversation as he pleased, and they constantly got sidetracked by this or that thing. Techno had a whole conversation on exactly what a vending machine was, watching people operate it and get…hot cans of coffee and tea out of it.

They were both very, very amused at him.

As it turned out, the machine _did_ have lavender tea, and it was almost enough to have him hum happily as he let his legs take him and his brothers to a different train that went a completely different route through the city.

Muscle memory let his hand ghost over a tile as he pinged his communicator. A second later, he was allowed to the platform. When Tommy and Wilbur did much the same, they just tapped their communicators on it and off they went.

Lovely. Useful.

He had no clue what he had just done, but it was fine. That just…had to be the way the world worked.

The train even had _new_ things that didn’t make his memory perk up like an alert watchdog- something like a little jingle that played when the doors opened, Tommy’s voice commenting on everyone he saw even if they heard him, a baby screaming loud enough to hurt his ears, landscapes out the window changed just enough that it didn’t spark too much.

It was also- _quite_ the cold day, now that he had the time to realize it. It had been fine enough when he was walking and inside a building, but the stop-start nature of their newfound explorative drive left him getting cold as he stood to look at a cat from afar or watch someone perform in the street as they whizzed by. His feet and void-filled memories were taking him somewhere, sure, but they weren’t exactly in a hurry, especially with him getting more sluggish the colder he was.

They could take the scenic route.

It was fine. It was more than fine, in fact- as he slowly released from his shell, his shoulders loosened, his posture relaxed. Sure, he tightened up again every time he saw someone with pink hair, with a red cape, any of it- but it was lighthearted. It was, dare he say it again, actually _fun_ despite a growing feeling that he was a half-step sideways from reality and growing further apart from it.

With his brothers in tow, he found his way to a little hole in the wall restaurant, barely enough room to move around without bumping into a table or chair, even with the straight line to the counter. Techno shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up for a menu- and found none.

But…his mouth was watering at the smell of seasoned meat, of meals well taken care of, the slightly broken down looking room and plastic containers handed out to customers nothing compared to the way that it brought things back, a particular scent hitting just so as he glanced across the counter to see a man staring straight back at him-

* * *

In another time, Techno stood there with a defeated posture, a sharp frown on his face, alone and with a beanie on his head, hands tucked into jean pockets and a scarp wrapped around his neck. He stepped forward to order, foot tapping idly on the ground, and let himself smile with his eyes at the person who greeted him.

The man who stared back, big and beefy, grinned.

“If it-“

* * *

“-ain’t my long-lost brother,” the person greeted heartily, making Techno blink as the memory layered over the reality, as he stepped up and gaped and looked back at Wilbur and Tommy, both of which looked as astonished as he did.

_ Brother? _

“Hell- _ooo_ ,” he said awkwardly, letting his posture hunch a little more as the man laughed.

“Long time no-“

* * *

“-see,” the man finished, grinning and leaning over the table to wink at him. He looked back behind him to see…no line. “Our favorite regular indeed, even if you’re not here as often as the others, huh?”

“Of course,” Techno murmured. Adjusted his scarf, thankful for the fact that they never asked the questions that others would. “I…”

“No need to say anythin’,” he said agreeably, winking just a bit. “We’ll just be going ahead and gettin’ you your regular, extra-“

* * *

“-sauce on the side like usual?”

A blink. Two blinks. Nothing had quite triggered a split-second flash in his memory like _that_ in him before, and he had to mull it over for a second, staring at him before he inclined his head ever so slightly, before he gave into the urge to just let his body do what felt right and let himself step even further sideways on the scale of his control.

“Hey, no worries,” they chuckled. “Figured you’d not wanna talk, even now. And are these two people with ya? Friends or somethin’?”

“…Something,” he eventually said. Left it at that.

“And what’ll y’all be wanting?”

Techno felt himself drift as they answered, as the man behind the counter gave him a wink (and a ping to Techno’s communicator that he answered with a flick of the hand to pay) and went to the back to holler something unintelligible at those working there. There was a short cheer- and when he came back out, he ushered them to the one little rickety table still available and gave a lazy, almost-mocking salute as they sat down to wait. He watched as he motioned for the next group to come forward and give their order.

“ _So,_ ” Tommy said.

“So,” Techno replied, once again reverted to a stranger in his own body.

“…What the hell was _that?_ ”

“I don’t know,” he said tiredly, leaning forward to put his face in his hands, let himself revel in the fact that the scarf he had stuffed into his hoodie’s big pocket was the exact same as the one in the memory that had cut into what he was doing. “I don’t…I’ve been here. Before.”

“I can tell that,” Wilbur said, rolling his eyes, “but we haven’t even heard about it!”

“I don’t think I ever told you all,” he murmured, a bit slurred behind the tusks, unwilling to look at the two of them. His mind drifted to more things- how many places had he gone without even thinking of his brothers? What was the difference between the places he told them about and the places that he had actually frequented, like this?

Despite its cramped and busy atmosphere, he felt safe here. Cozy. _Relaxed_. The man hadn’t said his name once, even though he clearly knew who he was and had pinged his communicator for wordless payment, and it was a relief for him to know that there were people that remembered him after so long but didn’t fucking _push_ on anything he didn’t _want_ pushed-

That was being too unfair to his brothers. That was rude to them when he didn’t have to be, even though it was only in his head. Techno groaned and sighed it out, just sitting there until they realized that it wasn’t really worth it, bugging him more like this when he was only half-paying attention to their nagging at him.

They left him be.

Techno relaxed further.

The food, packed into three different plastic containers, was absolutely delicious, meat and vegetables and a sauce to compliment it that was divine, despite the hastily thrown together appearance it carried- as was the bag of hastily made desserts that were plopped onto the table as they begun to finish.

People, as it turned out, could be more kind than they were terrifying- even when they knew something. They could keep secrets. They could look at him and recognize him on sight even when there were other people who looked so similar- and they didn’t snitch.

They only looked at him kindly and said things like _these are on the house, we whipped your favorite up for ya real quick, thanks for comin’ back_ and left him in the dust of their arrival feeling like he had just been given a hug without any of the tactile sensations of it.

Utter strangers.

He wished he remembered who they even were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finished the main routes of omori with the exception of the one that branches off real early on. sadge.
> 
> i hope people don't lose patience with the pace of this fic. thank you for sticking around.

**Author's Note:**

> just doing my best, chilling and writing a comfort fic and hoping people like it too. if you strongly feel like a tag should be added, please tell me. updates will be semi-consistent, hoping for an every few days kind of schedule, so bookmark this if you end up liking it. feel free to give a kudos, and if you'd like to chat with me further, you can find me on twitter at @airenidae, although i don't post too much- but i may end up chatting with yall :) if anything i'll try to reply or look at comments.
> 
> have a wonderful day, wherever you're seeing this, and stay safe out there. find comfort in the little things.
> 
> [edit: **_there is now a discord server,_** both for general sbi interest and for the fic! to join, head to https://discord.gg/5MzGm5YJ9r !]


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